Kill Bill
by Ace Bullets
Summary: Update! After the events of "The Perfect Family", Donna learns a little more from Ed about what's going on with the absent Sam; Team One pursues some gangbangers with unforeseen results.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: There's so much to be explored given what we now know about Donna Sabine's background in Vice as an undercover officer (thanks to "A New Life"). I can't imagine too many of you readers are going to be excited about this particular 'story', but this just wouldn't leave me alone. This will probably end up being a Three-Part anthology that attempts to get inside the partnership between Donna and Bill and how things deteriorated (as they clearly must have for things to have gone so horribly wrong in "A New Life".)**

** Clearly, there will be spoilers for "A New Life", but also for the entire series whenever Donna's character would have had a presence.  
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><p><strong>Kill Bill<strong>

**Part I**

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><p>The deep undercover assignment to infiltrate and ultimately bring down Callum Logan, head of the notorious Logan Family, was a success for Bill Kedrick's team of undercover police officers.<p>

Crown prosecutors, satisfied with the overwhelming body of evidence collected over the course of the operation, would not actually require the UC officers involved to testify. It was better that way, anyway; the Logan family was a different breed of 'crime family'. They were unapologetically ruthless. Merciless. Vicious. Those who crossed the Logans or were even suspected of betraying them did not live to regret or reflect on their actions.

Donna Sabine, Bill's partner on the op, would later describe the Logans as a "real special kind of mean".

After playing the dangerous game of living a life that was fabricated for the sole purpose of earning the implicit trust of the Logans, Donna was glad to be able to return to her old life. The delicate balancing act of remaining 'in character' at all times while ensuring that she didn't lose herself in the cesspool of crime and corruption she witnessed on a daily basis - even at times participated in - was finally over.

Callum Logan would be facing a life sentence with no possibility of parole – prosecution assured them of that. Several of his lieutenants and petty underlings would also be serving jail time for their roles in his vast organization. Logan's wife, Ida, barely escaped a prison sentence. Though prosecution knew she had a hand in the 'family business', their main concern was getting Callum permanently behind bars.

Even with the promises of lawyers and with the Logan empire lying in ruin, Donna Sabine knew in some corner of her mind there was always the possibility of reprisals. She hoped to take comfort in the fact that her real name and Bill's - as well as all the other officers in deep - would be kept concealed. She herself didn't even have knowledge of the actual names and identities of the other undercover cops involved. Bill had planned it that way from the start, anyway, knowing that it was the best way to keep them all safe in the long run.

Coming back to reality certainly entailed a period of adjustment. Comfort and relief didn't come as readily or as easily as Donna had hoped, but the same effort she put into forging her fake identity was put into reclaiming herself and her old life, and her efforts paid off.

During the course of that re-assimilation, however, Donna started to realise that Bill was not bouncing back as he had in the past from previous assignments.

While she had managed to come out of the op relatively unscathed and intact, her partner somehow hadn't. Bill's pathetic struggles to return to his old self would soon earn him the scorn and disgust of his fellow officers.

The first warning sign about Bill happened when Donna found herself unable to sleep one night sometime after the assignment was officially over. It was one of her first nights back in her own place, in a bed she hadn't slept in for ages, and she was alone.

Unbidden and inexplicable tears started to fall, and she was shocked at the sudden downpour as emotions swirled and coursed through her. She came to the uncomfortable realisation that it must be some strange grieving process she was working through, and it frightened her to think that she might actually be mourning the loss of her undercover identity and her underworld 'relationships' forged with the Logans.

The phone on her bedside table rang, startling her from her weepy ruminations. She instinctively knew it was Bill calling. He couldn't sleep, either, and his voice was slurred and thick with emotion. Donna had to strain to listen to him, barely making out half of what he was blubbering on about.

She deciphered that he missed her being around with him; that he was happy that they'd won… Gloated about the look on Callum Logan's face when he was arrested… Proud of her and said she was the best partner he ever had.

He was rambling, really, but Donna kept listening, feeling herself relaxing at the sound of his voice, even in this obviously intoxicated state. She had to admit to herself she was missing him, too.

"Donn'… you're so good, you know that?" he'd mumbled. "I jus' wantcha to know that… Heh… _we_ were good, right? Logans… never knew… but I think… I think I know why they bought it… why they bought it 'bout you an' me... Y'know why? It's 'cause I _do_, y'know? I _do…_"

"You 'do', what, Bill?" Donna asked patiently, after having listened to his nearly incoherent mutterings for almost an hour.

His answer started with an unselfconscious giggle. "Hee-hee… it's 'cause I do!... Y'know… love you… I love you."

The drunken confession was not what she expected to hear, and it left her cold. There was silence on the other end, and Donna hoped it wasn't because Bill was waiting to hear her reply in kind.

"…'kay, jus' had to call to tell you that, Donn'…" Bill finally said, sluggishly nonchalant, as if he hadn't noticed her non-reaction; that she hadn't reciprocated. Then to her consternation, he began singing the chorus to Stevie Wonder's 'I Just Called to Say I Love You'.

He moved on to the verses, hiccuping and giggling throughout the rendition, missing words and substituting different words when his memory failed.

When he was done serenading, he bid her a sleepy 'goodnight' and hung up.

Donna remained awake the rest of the night, knees drawn up and blankets wrapped tightly around her to ward off a chill she couldn't shake.

What on earth had Bill been thinking, calling her like that after drinking too much? They'd been partners in Vice for two years already; living together for almost one year to establish their cover identities, and then more than another year during the infiltration of the Logan family.

Her feelings for him were admittedly a complex mix of respect, admiration, protectiveness, attraction and desire. They'd played lovers so well for so long, it was initially a real challenge separating that identity, lifestyle and mind-set from what was reality.

There were times during the Logan operation when a touch, a kiss, or the words "I love you", enacted and uttered merely for show, seemed to transcend the fallacy they were living; when, just for a moment, the intimacy the actions and words implied seemed to truly exist between them.

But in the real world they were cops doing a job, sacrificing genuine relationships for the sake of the mission; the false ones a mere substitution for the real thing.

"I love you" was ultimately meaningless when the Logans went down, because there was no longer a reason to pretend that the love was there. Donna accepted the pretense for what it was, and whatever emotional attachment and attraction she had for Bill returned solely to the realm of professional, if not familial. He once again became nothing more than a trusted partner and brother cop.

As she sat in bed in a state of wary wakefulness for the remainder of that night after the troubling phone call, Donna's mind raced. Did Bill actually believe he was in love with her? Did he think that the fleeting feelings they'd flirted with during those two years had endured and survived past the conclusion of the mission?

The thought frightened Donna more than she cared to admit. Bill had always maintained he'd never settle down; that with their kind of life, it wouldn't be fair to the other person.

As for her, she'd not had the time to entertain the idea of marrying someone; her life had always been about the job. Besides, cops and marriage were a volatile mix, and Donna had seen too many of those marriages fail.

But with Bill uttering those three words… did he maybe want a life that he could share with someone, after all? Donna didn't know how to interpret those words; didn't know how she should respond. Whatever love she had for him would never be the sort of love his late-night call seemed to imply he was lonesome for.

How would she be able to face him the next morning? What could she say if he broached the subject?

The late-night hours inevitably slipped into morning, and by the time her usual hour of rising came 'round, Donna was no closer to a solution to her problem of what to do about Bill.

When Donna caught sight of him that morning at work, Bill looked terribly hung over. His eyes were bloodshot; the skin on his face looked patchy and mottled, and he was in need of a shave. He was grouchy and irritable, too, which was unlike him, especially after the euphoric high that often lingered after a successful takedown.

He grumbled a 'good morning' to everyone and mercifully seemed to have no memory of the phone call to her the night before. She prayed his 'amnesia' over the incident was permanent, and that there'd be no repeats of the late-night, drunken confession ever again.

She would be unfortunately wrong about that.

A week later, she was watching the late-night news which was carrying a story about the court proceedings on the Logan case when her phone rang. Recognizing Bill's cellular number on the call display, she thought perhaps he wanted to talk about the great job prosecutors were doing trying the case.

Instead, she heard a noisy clamour in the background that told her he was probably calling from a bar or nightclub. He sounded sloshed, and he rambled about the Logan case again; poured out his heart about how grateful he was that they were so close… and again that he loved her.

_Oh, hell_, Donna thought, running a hand over her face in disbelief. _Not this, again._

"Sure, Bill," she said easily, noncommittally; hoping the moment would pass and that he wouldn't press her for a different response.

"'Kay, bye-bye, Donn'… I gotta go home now…" Bill's words sounded lazy.

"Wait, Bill!" Donna shouted, knowing it was the only way her voice would be heard over the din of the loud bar patrons and blaring music. "Where are you? Let me drive you home." _For God's sake, Bill_, she thought irritably, _you're too damned drunk to drive home._

"Where'm I?" Bill repeated. "'m at the Goose. We're all pals here, right, guys?"

Donna heard a raucous chorus of "Yeahs!" filtering through.

"Stay there," she commanded, already slipping into a pair of jeans and pulling a sweater over her nightshirt. "I'm coming to get you. You can't drive home like that."

"But… Why can't I?" Bill asked, sounding confused.

"Because you've had too much to drink," Donna explained patiently as she grabbed her keys. "Wait at the Goose for me, Bill. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Promise me you'll wait there, okay?"

"Scout's honour, Donna!" Bill answered with mock seriousness and a chuckle. She imagined he probably pulled a three-finger salute while saying it. She hung up the phone and hurried out of her apartment door, praying that his mind and his will was clear enough and strong enough to keep his promise to stay put.

The Goose was something of a cop hangout, and as Donna drove her truck to the familiar location, she fervently hoped that if any of her brother or sister cops were there, they'd take steps to ensure Bill didn't do something stupid.

Upon entering the bar, she saw Bill sitting at the counter, a quarter-full glass of beer pushed to the side. She approached quickly and put a hand on his arm.

"I'm here, Bill," she said, giving him a gentle tug. "Let's go."

He turned a morose face to her. "Oh, Donn'… it's you! But… I don' wanna go jus' yet," he said, eyes drooping and unfocused. "Gotta finish this…first…"

He reached for the glass clumsily, fingers closing around nothing.

"No," Donna said sternly, stopping him from grabbing at his drink. "You've had enough. I'm taking you home."

"Oh, yah?" he asked, mouth hanging open, the smell of beer heavy on his breath.

She wasn't in any mood for arguments. "Yeah. We're leaving. Now."

"Well, I guess tha's okay… you takin' me home…" Bill murmured. He slid off the bar stool unsteadily, and Donna quickly positioned herself to support him as they staggered towards the exit, one arm around his bulky frame.

The cool night air hit them, and Bill squinted in the bright beams shining from the bar's parking lot security lights.

"Hoo, boy!… It's cold out here," Bill breathed and shivered a little. "…an' you're so nice an' warm. Hey, tha's a nice sweater…" He pulled Donna closer and rested his chin on her head.

Donna felt her cheeks flush. She'd never seen Bill like this, but didn't want to embarrass him by pushing him away. Besides, even drunk, she trusted him enough not to do something they'd both regret.

"We're here," she said, hitting the auto-unlock on her keychain. She opened the truck's passenger-side door and Bill tumbled in. Donna made sure he was seated properly before fastening his seatbelt.

During the careful drive to his apartment, Bill's head lolled on this chest with the truck's movements, and every so often a soft groan escaped his lips.

"You're okay, Bill," Donna said soothingly, casting a quick, sideways glance in his direction. "You'll be home in no time to sleep it off."

She supposed he'd gone to the Goose in a celebratory mood, given the way Logan was being nailed by the prosecutors in court. It was always good to share victories with fellow cops, and the Goose was as good a place as any to find the ear of a member of the cop family.

Donna just wished that in this instance one of those cops had been kind enough to cut Bill off. But who was she kidding? Alcohol abuse among some members was a dirty secret on the force; a problem they tried to ignore, but would never go away.

_But Bill's not an alcoholic, _Donna told herself. _He's just a social drinker. Getting drunk every time isn't his style…_

At his apartment, Donna gently guided Bill out of her truck. His gait was still unbalanced, and she had to support him again.

"Where are your keys, Bill?" she asked as they reached his door.

"Pocket," he whispered, but made no move to get them himself.

Donna gingerly searched his jeans and finally fished out the key ring from the left side pocket. She opened the door and propelled him inside towards the bedroom. The queen-sized bed hadn't been made up, and there were dirty clothes strewn all over the carpeted floor.

This was out of character for Bill. When they'd lived together as a couple undercover, he'd always been conscientious about things like that. No way was she going to be picking up after him, anyway, and he was just a neat and organized sort of person in general.

With one arm still wrapped around Bill, Donna used her free hand to pull back the rumpled duvet. She plopped a pillow up against the headboard and gave Bill a gentle push towards the bed. "In you go," she directed.

But Bill seemed not to want to let go of her, sagging wearily against her like a dead weight. Shockingly, she felt the unexpected and unwanted touch of his hands reaching up under her sweater.

"Hey, this isn't the time to get grabby," she said in annoyance. She gripped his wrists firmly and pulled his arms down and away, thankful she'd still been wearing the nightshirt beneath the sweater.

"Gimmie a g'night kiss…" Bill drawled. Donna turned her head away quickly to avoid him, but he still managed to plant a sloppy kiss on the side of her face.

"Stop it," Donna snapped. All efforts to be gentle and patient with him in his drunken state evaporated instantly. She roughly shoved his face aside and deftly twisted him around, holding him in a secure arm-lock against the bedroom wall.

"Hey… ow!" Bill whined in surprise. His next words were muffled as he found himself suddenly face-down in his pillow. Donna manoeuvered his lower limbs properly into the bed, rolling him onto his side just in case he started bringing up the contents of his stomach in his sleep. The last thing she wanted was for him to aspirate.

"Sleep it off, Bill," Donna said with a tired sigh. She dragged the heavy duvet over his body, not bothering to even stop and remove his shoes. The less time she spent in this room, the better.

She heard his plaintive begging as she turned off the light and closed the door. "Donn'… Don't go… please? Please don't leave me…"

The drive back to her place was a difficult one. Every nerve was on edge, and Donna tried to rationalize exactly what had happened back in Bill's apartment. A sober Bill would never have done what the inebriated Bill did. She knew that inhibitions vanished when people had too much to drink, and she was again alarmed at the possibility that Bill had latent feelings for her that were floating just beneath the surface.

The sad reality of the situation began to dawn on Donna: Bill hadn't fully come back from the Logan assignment. He had not come to the same place she had, and unfortunately there wasn't time to cater to his fantasies or whatever it was he was still holding onto from that life they had shared.

If all it took was one too many for him to start expressing himself in that way; expecting more from her, then maybe she ought to tell him about his shameful behavior. Maybe it would shock him into taking better care of himself.

But how had it even happened? Bill losing control like that for a second time was highly uncharacteristic. Donna decided she would bring up only the fact that she'd had to collect him from the Goose and nothing of what he had said and done in his bedroom. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt his pride and make him feel ashamed, even if what he tried to do had crossed the line.

Her words would have little effect when she privately confronted him. Bill became agitated and defensive when she approached him about it. He brushed off the incident, claiming he hadn't been that drunk.

"So I like to talk shop with other cops at the Goose," Bill had said. "We share a few rounds and we go home. The end. You don't need to monitor me, so let's just forget you ever mentioned this, okay?"

His reply had stung. It was not the sort of rebuke that she had expected from him. Chastened, she decided to let the matter drop with the promise to herself that if Bill slipped and acted inappropriately towards her again, she would ask for a re-assignment. The mere prospect of ending their partnership was heartbreaking, but she also knew she'd be unable to sustain it if Bill's behaviour continued.

Coming to work hung over would soon become his pattern, though, as would her habit of seeking him out and hauling him home from different bars across the city. Sometimes she would get a drunken call from him in the middle of the night, and Donna would feel obliged to collect him from wherever he was, for his own sake and for the safety of others. She was grateful that during those times, his uninhibited actions towards her did not re-occur. Either he was too drunk, or maybe a part of him had registered the fact that she was not reciprocating - and he somehow restrained himself.

It seemed to Donna that a crucial part of Bill's soul and psyche had either been lost or permanently damaged while dealing with the Logans. He was suffering; floundering, and Donna felt helpless to alleviate his pain. It tore her up daily to see Bill's decline. How could it not? He was like a rudderless ship being tossed about a stormy sea, and nothing she said or did could re-orient him and steer him to dry, solid land.

They may have won the victory against the Logans, but Donna was starting to fear that the price paid for that victory was much too high if Bill was irrevocably lost.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: This is actually taking on a life of its own, much to my surprise. It just might go longer than 3 parts, because I certainly didn't cover all I thought I would in this part. Anyhow, as I said in the previous chapter, there's spoilerish things lurking about because any episode where Donna Sabine appears is fodder for this fic. I guess I could issue a little bit of a LANGUAGE WARNING, but nothing too foul. **

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><p><strong>Kill Bill<strong>

**Part II**

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><p>One crime family was done, but the criminal underworld didn't stop just because one faction had been eliminated. The freight train of crime just continued to charge down the line, and Donna expected to be in the thick of things soon enough. There would always be another gang or faction waiting to fill in the void the Logans had left behind.<p>

That new criminal faction manifested itself in an up-and-comer by the name of Neil Cavell. For a man who was relatively new on the drug scene, he was already making his presence known as a force to be reckoned with in heroin trafficking.

Drug Squad's early intel showed that Cavell had serious international connections, and he had the potential to take over much of the heroin trade in the city. Donna's commander made Cavell one of their top priorities, and cover identities for the undercover cops were again being fashioned for another long haul. Only now, Donna was starting to dread the prospect of this new assignment.

Two years ago, she would have been eager to charge into the fray; would have had a fire in her belly to break open and expose the 'bad guys'. Two years ago, Bill had been a different person, and as partners, Donna felt they could almost take on the world together. They trusted each other and had each other's back. Now, she wasn't sure her partner was ready to go back to that world. She feared a return would destroy him.

Neil Cavell always seemed to be one step ahead of them. They were having great difficulty breaking directly into his operation. Drug Squad knew he catered mainly to high-end clients, and several of the officers tried making connections by posing as moneyed business executives or high-rollers with a habit to support. Attempts to buy from Cavell's dealers usually went off without a hitch, but Cavell himself remained elusive.

Further, they were stymied as to how Cavell was getting his supply into the country. All obvious points of ingress had been checked and re-checked. Cavell's offshore source's methods were clearly very sophisticated if they were able to avoid detection.

Four months of nothing but merely identifying a handful of Cavell's dealers and conducting small buys was starting to frustrate Donna and her fellow officers. Worse, getting into the gritty areas Cavell's people inhabited was beginning to make her feel more and more tainted than ever before. If she was feeling almost physically soiled by this op, how much more so was it corrupting Bill in his broken-down state?

Donna worried how much more she would be able to tolerate when an early-morning buy with one of Cavell's men failed to go down as planned. The screw-up would set back their delicate op by several months, and there would certainly be some serious repercussions from the top brass.

Bill had managed to establish a connection with a man who went by the street name of 'Grizz'. They were certain Grizz was one of Cavell's dealers, and Bill had already bought from him on two occasions. This third time was hopefully going to help solidify that relationship of regular dealer and customer. From there, the plan was for Bill to milk that 'relationship' by convincing Grizz to turn as a confidential informant. It was hoped this little fish would lead them to the big fish.

Things had started out fine that morning, but quickly deteriorated when a hung over Bill started making Grizz nervous. Bill, wearing a wire, had become belligerent and argumentative over the price he was supposed to pay for the 'product'.

Donna was listening in on the exchange from a nearby vacant room in an apartment with two other officers, James Wharton and Ignacio Perez, who were working video surveillance. To her dismay, she heard Bill verbally threaten Grizz, promising to cause him physical harm if the price wasn't dropped.

Grizz, having little patience for such a show of disrespect from his buyer, pulled out a pistol.

"He's got a gun!" Perez shouted, yanking off his headset. James Wharton had already flown from his seat, weapon in hand. Donna abandoned her listening post and was a split-second behind James, both ready to charge out the door.

"Wait!" Perez called out, his arm raised and palm open in a gesture that said 'stop'; eyes still glued to the monitor.

James and Donna immediately halted at Ignacio's order.

"What is it?" Donna asked, tensing. Perez slipped his headset back over his ears.

"He's okay…" Ignacio replied, shoulders heaving in relief. "Something spooked Grizz. He's taken off. Bill's okay… He's okay."

Donna let go the breath she had been holding. Her heart's wild beating began to slow to a tolerable pace and she re-holstered her weapon.

James leaned in close to Donna. There was a distinct sneer on his face as he spoke to her in a low, incensed tone. "Tell your _boyfriend_ the next time he goes ape-shit like that, he's on his own. I don't care if he's in charge of this op or not, he's out of control."

Donna scowled, narrowing her eyes. Defending Bill was starting to become a pointless exercise. With his work performances slipping this noticeably, the rest of the cops were distancing themselves from him.

"Wharton, what the hell?" she nevertheless protested, highly displeased that he'd even insinuated a protocol-breaching relationship between her and Bill.

"He's on his own!" James repeated harshly. "It's your choice if you want to crash and burn right along with him, Sabine. The guy is a loose cannon, and you know it."

"Bill Kedrick is my _partner_," Donna asserted, "and we all owe him just about everything we know about this job, and _you_ know it. Don't you dare think you can just throw him under the bus like that."

James waved an impatient hand in dismissal. "You're so damned blind, Sabine. Kedrick's a lost cause. I don't know what kind of… _arrangement_ the two of you have, but you need to know the guy's going to drag you down."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Donna snapped, the flame of anger licking at her soul, singeing her, causing rage to boil to the surface.

"Hey, you two, chill out," Perez said in voice of warning. "Bill's coming up."

But Wharton wasn't finished. "I don't know what I'm talking about, eh?" he challenged Donna. "Two years as partners, alone with each other, undercover, and you're telling me _you_ and _Kedrick_ never-"

"It _never_ happened, Wharton," Donna cut him off, hissing her words through clenched teeth, meeting his gaze with steely-eyed resolve.

Wharton leered with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. "Really… bet you wanted it to, though… Bet Kedrick did, too, by the way he talks about you… especially when he's into his liquor… Bet Kedrick _still_ wants it to. Tell me, Sabine: all those nights you drag his sorry ass home from the bar, drunk as a sailor…"

Donna had had enough. She turned away from Wharton in disgust, refusing to allow herself to be further baited by his revolting intimations. She stepped back towards the door, waiting for Bill to arrive so she could let him in.

Hearing the pre-arranged coded knock on the door, Bill also announced his presence over his wire microphone. "Open up," he said. "The buy went sour."

"No shit," Perez mumbled under his breath.

Donna opened the door and Bill stumped inside. She shut the door quickly, securing it with the lock.

Bill staggered over to a worn, upholstered armchair and sank into it, closing his eyes, breaths coming heavily.

Wharton just turned away in revulsion, not even bothering to look at his team leader's pathetic state.

Perez and Wharton weren't saying a word about what had happened, and Donna realised they were leaving it to her to take Bill to task for the blown op.

Feeling like a Judas, she approached Bill's slumped form.

"Bill… you want to tell me what the hell happened out there just now?"

"S.O.B. pulled a gun on me." Bill stated plainly, not even bothering to open his eyes.

"Yes, we know," Donna responded evenly; non-confrontationally.

"Oh, you knew, did you?" Bill retorted, eyes flying open; accusing; furious. "If you saw that, then where were you?"

"About to race out of here to rescue your sorry ass, you piss-poor excuse for an undercover cop!" James Wharton roared his interjection, angrily jumping in where he was not wanted.

"Wharton, shut it," said Donna, shooting him a scathing glare, trying to ensure tempers didn't flare up past the point of no return.

Wharton stood there for a moment, silenced by Donna. His eyes flicked from her to Bill, then back to her again. Seeing that exacerbating the situation really wasn't going to help matters, he wisely shut his mouth and shrugged his shoulders, then turned back to sit with Perez. He made sure, though, that Donna couldn't miss the parting look of condemnation on his face.

"Bill, we saw Grizz pull the gun, and we were on our way out there," Donna started again, "but something spooked him and he ran, so we backed off."

"Yeah," Bill sniffed. "Some poor drunk bastard tripped over his own two feet and knocked over a garbage can or something…"

Wharton muttered a few unsolicited words under his breath.

"What was that, Wharton?" Donna shot back. When the other officer just scowled in silence, she answered for him. "It sounded like you said 'Yeah, and that poor drunk bastard is you'."

"So what if I did say it? Huh?" Wharton replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "Donna, look at him! The guy's a liability. He just took months of work and flushed it down the friggin' toilet!"

"Okay, let's just stop, okay? Enough," Donna pleaded.

"Enough's enough when Kedrick gets himself clean, or when he gets himself taken off the Cavell case," Wharton raged, completely ignoring the fact that Bill could hear every word. "You think Grizz is ever going to want to see Kedrick's face again after what just happened? If we want to hook him again, we're going to have to get another face out there, and that's going to take more time – time we don't have to piss away!"

"You know he's right, Sabine," Ignacio Perez said quietly. "If you're not going to report this mess to the commander… I will."

"So that's how it's going to be?" Bill spat, raising himself up in the armchair. "I let one lousy piece of scum dealer slip through my fingers and you're all ready to stab me in the back? I could have been killed out there today, and the only thing you know to gripe about is lost time on this op? Need I remind you this op is mine? That all the planning that's gone into it has been mine? Huh?"

"It's a wonder you were clear-headed enough to plan anything, much less what to eat for breakfast this morning," Wharton ground out, dropping any prior resolve he might have had to let the issue alone, "unless 'breakfast' consisted of a bottle of Scotch washed down with a six-pack of Molson Canadian."

Enraged, Bill charged from the chair directly at James. Donna quickly got between the two.

"Stop right now," she cautioned them, and sought for some sign that Bill was even aware of what he was doing. It pained her to see him like this, and she knew it was impossible to hide her disappointment in him.

Their eyes met, and for the first time Bill seemed to come to his senses. He blinked several times, and then all the tension seemed to leave his body. He unclenched his fists and his jaw. His shoulders dropped in submission, and he muttered an apology to Wharton.

"You need to go home, Bill," Donna said in placating tones. "You're not doing yourself any favours right now. Take a sick day; something. There's nothing more we can do here, anyway."

Ignacio was already quietly packing up the surveillance equipment. James had finally decided to forget about Bill and began lending Ignacio a hand.

"Sorry, Donna," Bill said softly. "I don't know what got into me."

"You're tired and you're hung over, Bill," Donna advised him, tamping down her frustration at his inability to accurately self-assess. "I should take you home. You really shouldn't be driving."

_You really shouldn't have been doing this buy today in this state, either, _she thought_. We should have stopped you. But you insisted. Now, there's going to be hell to pay when Commander Foley finds out…_

Bill was silent during the drive home. His pale complexion and sloppy body language worried Donna. When was the last time he had eaten properly? It was one thing to 'look the part' of a heroin addict, even one who was ostensibly from a wealthy area code, as Bill's druggie persona was supposed to be, but this was bordering on ridiculous.

She pulled her truck into a space reserved for visitors when they arrived at Bill's apartment complex.

"Let's get you inside," she said to him.

He got out without a word and she accompanied him up to his floor. When they reached his door, his fingers were shaking so badly, he dropped his keys. The noisy rattle as they hit the floor caused him to wince, as if the sound had caused him physical pain.

"It's okay, I've got them," Donna said as she bent down to retrieve them.

Bill had his forehead pressed against his door, eyes shut tight. "Sorry, Donn'. I've just got this killer headache right now…"

"It's fine, Bill," Donna stated. "We'll get you inside, and we'll find you some aspirin or something. You also need to sleep."

"Okay…" he whispered.

"Come on, move back so I can open up," she gently ordered, and he obediently slid aside so she could unlock the door.

The air inside the apartment was heavy and stale. _God, when was the last time he even cracked a window? _Donna thought. With quick, discerning eyes, her glance swept across the living room and tiny kitchen. The drapes and venetian blinds were all drawn and shut tight. Greasy take-out boxes from various local ethnic restaurants and pizza outlets littered the countertops and coffee table. Empty beer cans and bottles of whiskey were piled messily on the floor next to the trash bin.

With quick strides, Donna was inside the kitchen where she raised one of the blinds and cracked open the window in front of the kitchen sink. Dirty dishes were stacked in there, and from the look and smell of things, had been there for a very long time.

The minimal air flow from the open window probably wouldn't make a dent in the dank air quality, but at least things were starting to feel a bit more tolerable.

Donna searched Bill's kitchen cupboards until she found one clean mug. She opened the kitchen tap and filled it with cool water.

"I'll be right back," she told him, and he grunted an unintelligible reply from his position in one of the leather couches in his living room.

In the bathroom, which was actually in a surprisingly tolerable condition, Donna searched the medicine cabinet for some sort of pain-killer. The usual items one would expect to find in a single man's bathroom filled the shelves: cologne, shaving cream, dental floss, mouthwash, and disposable razor blades. There was also a half-empty bottle of Tums and a still-sealed bottle of Pepto-Bismol.

With a practiced eye, Donna's gaze roved over the rest of the shelves. There was nothing in any prescription bottles, nor were there any nondescript pills or powders in generic packets or liquid medications in vials.

Finally, on the top shelf, she spied an unopened box of Extra-Strength Advil next to an extra stack of soaps and toothpaste.

"Bingo," she said triumphantly. On tip-toe, she stretched up and snatched the Advil box between her fingertips.

It troubled her conscience that she'd just poked through Bill's medicine cabinet; it troubled her even more that she'd been consciously looking for something illicit - and had almost expected to find it.

She was relieved, of course, that there was nothing stronger than the Advil that she was now making him swallow down with the water in the mug.

"Thanks, Donn'," Bill said after taking the capsule. He made a concerted effort to put down the mug on a clear space on the coffee table without spilling the water.

Donna noticed that his hands were trembling. She moved closer and sat next to him, putting her hands on his, helping him with this simple task. He didn't seem the least bit upset or ashamed that she was assisting him like this when he was seemingly weak and vulnerable.

She looked at his messy hair, stubble-covered cheeks, red-rimmed eyes and rumpled business-suit. He sat there, staring at nothing in particular, taking one deep breath after another, as if breathing was the one and only thing he was able to concentrate on doing at the moment.

Donna felt a tiny stab of pain at her heart. _If Grizz hadn't been spooked today… I could have lost Bill if Grizz had pulled that trigger._

"Bill…" she started, "about today…"

"Don't," Bill warned, curtly at first, then thought better of his tone and softened a bit. "Please… don't. I know I screwed up. I don't need to hear it from you, too."

"It's not that, Bill," Donna said in her defense. "You have to take better care of yourself. You nearly got shot today. Of course I care about taking down Cavell, but not if it means losing you in the process. You're my _partner_, Bill. And you know what they ask whenever there's an officer down: '_Where was the partner'_?"

He turned his head to look at her, realising for the first time how deeply today's incident had affected her.

"It's just like you told me on my first day I was assigned as your partner: we're supposed to be there for each other, and I _am_ here for you, no matter what," Donna continued. "But I don't ever want to be in a position where I can't anticipate what's happening with you; where I can't be there for you because I don't know what's going on with you..."

"Donna…" Bill sighed, a catch in his voice. He was close to her now, lowering his head onto her shoulder. "I'm just so messed up right now…"

His whole body was trembling, and Donna realised that it was residual terror racking him; terror from almost getting a bullet in his chest; terror from the repercussions that were surely coming from their commander, and terror that his life was in a free-fall and he had no idea how to stop himself.

She put a comforting arm around him as he started sobbing. She was shushing him now, rubbing his back, telling him everything was going to be all right, even though she herself was terrified it wasn't.

Slowly, softly, she felt his lips on the side of her neck, on her jaw; his hands reaching for her face, drawing her even closer. His touch was like an electric shock, and a surge of emotions she'd been holding in check for so long built to a crescendo that she felt almost powerless to contain. She turned in to respond to his kisses, his mouth on hers, insistent and hungry.

In Donna's mind, she knew this wasn't a display of passion for the sake of a cover story. It was an expression of mutual attraction that for her was an utter necessity right now, in this very moment, to convince herself Bill was still here; that he was alive and that she hadn't lost him in that dirty alleyway to a jumpy drug dealer.

Then like the shrill shrieks of a smoke alarm warning of fire, James Wharton's mocking words from earlier that day sounded in her mind.

"Bill," she whispered, pulling away from him.

"What?" he replied huskily, leaning in again to try to recapture the moment.

But she put up her defenses again, stopping him from going any further. "We can't do this."

"Why? Why not?" He sounded wounded; confused.

She struggled for a coherent answer. She'd rejected him before when he was drunk; why couldn't she reject him when he was just a little hung over and on the verge of sobriety?

"Because!" she protested lamely, "we're partners. This is a line we cannot cross."

She grasped for the most rational argument she could think of. She finally hit upon the only one that had ever prevented her from pursuing him for something long-term in the first place:

"You've made it clear you aren't into a committed relationship."

"I have? I did?" Bill asked, as if it were the most foreign concept he'd ever heard.

"You did."

"When did I ever say something like that?" he asked, scrubbing his face with his hands.

"You've always said it," Donna answered. "You said with this life, it wouldn't be fair to the other person."

Verbalizing it now, reminding Bill of his vow to remain forever single, Donna realised she had effectively put the last nail in the coffin of any notion she might have had that they would ever be anything more than police partners. Drunk or sober, it would now truly be nothing but professional and platonic between them.

"Yeah… I guess I did say that, didn't I?" Bill finally said with a sad chuckle. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean… I don't want this to come between us..."

Donna knew she would have to take a hard line from here on in. She knew couldn't afford to let down her guard like that ever again; couldn't let her emotions cloud her judgment. Without a word, she got up from the couch and started for the door.

He looked up at her sheepishly, wanting to hear some response from her that everything was square with them again. "Donna… we _are _okay, right? I mean… heh… Last thing we need is people thinking we're having some kind of 'squad-car romance', right?" he asked, trying for some levity.

_They already do think it, _Donna thought bitterly, reminded once again of Wharton's insinuations. She paused before opening the apartment door. "Clean yourself up, Bill," she said quietly; deliberately, "or I'm done being your partner."

With that ultimatum, Donna walked out of his apartment and returned to the Division to file the official report on what had happened, knowing it would result in disciplinary action against her partner.

_Cruel to be kind_, she thought guiltily. While she didn't actually regret the brief taste of intimacy they had just shared, Donna hoped Bill would understand it would never happen again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Kill Bill**

**Part III**

In her report, Donna had noted that while appearing drunk and disorderly was helpful in carrying out Bill's role as a drug addict, in this case, his actions clearly indicated he was not in control of his faculties. As a result, he had placed his own life in danger and jeopardized the on-going operation.

Following Donna's written complaint, their superior officer, weighing the seriousness of the offense, issued a 5-day suspension without pay along with a written reprimand. Bill was found guilty of a disciplinary default under Section 4 of the police Code of Conduct: "_misuse of intoxicating liquor or drugs in a manner prejudicial to duty"._

Duly chastened, Bill was sober and clear-eyed upon returning from the suspension. He had shaved. His clothes actually looked like they'd been taken to the cleaners and properly laundered and pressed. He was in control; normal; all-business.

After private meetings with Commander Foley, he assembled the whole Cavell team once again.

"Here's how it's going to be," Bill began as he addressed the seven-member group of officers. "You all know by now what happened last week, and I know that one was on me. But I'm back now, and ready to proceed… Donna, you're up at bat."

"What's the target?" she asked, alert and ready to hear what she was being asked to do. She was encouraged by Bill's apparent change in demeanour; emboldened by his humble admission that he took full responsibility for his misstep with Grizz. She was confident that they could get the Cavell case back on track.

"The Viper Nightclub," Bill answered, and pointed to a spot on a map of the downtown area. "It's this dive on Wellington and John. We know the whole area's just a corridor for drug trafficking; one of 'Nacio's CIs just let us know that Cavell's guys have been dealing out of there for several weeks now. Thanks for that legwork, Perez."

Ignacio gave a brief nod at being acknowledged.

Donna opened the file Bill passed her and looked at several pictures of the layout of the club. Exterior shots showed the place had the unusual feature of stained-glass windows, an odd choice for such an obvious den of iniquity.

"Bartender's most likely our man," Bill continued. "His name's Gary Philip Jankowski. He's had several priors for possession and dealing. You ready to reprise your 'meth-freak' persona, Donna?"

"Sure," she answered with a smile.

"Molly the Meth-Freak strikes again!" Officer Evan Braun chortled.

"It's _Melinda _the Meth-Freak," Donna corrected with a smirk, "and don't you forget it."

"Ah!" Braun said with a wink. "Don't mess with Mel the Meth-Head. She'll take you down!"

"Seriously, Donna, you're damned convincing when you spaz out like that," Ignacio put in. "You should've been in the movies."

"Okay, focus, people," Bill rapped a table to get their attention. "We go in there _tonight_. You've all got your assignments, right? Let's go over the game plan…"

* * *

><p>Neil Cavell was evidently expanding his empire into less-than-auspicious areas, as Donna couldn't see how the Viper would ever be labeled 'classy' by anyone's standards. Knowing that Cavell's usual clientele were of the more well-heeled set, this move had to be about cornering more of the heroin market in the city, regardless of the size of the customers' bank account or social status.<p>

Two bouncers, or rather 'hired muscle', were dressed all in black and stood outside the club with dour expressions on their faces and bulky, heavily tattooed arms crossed over broad chests. They gave Donna the once-over, eyeing her for much longer than was polite, but eventually granted her entrance.

The Viper Nightclub was poorly-lit and the air stank heavily of marijuana. The hazy blue smoke lingered inside due to insufficient ventilation, contributing to the dim, shadowy atmosphere. A few dozen people lounged on over-stuffed couches or sat at tables, lazily drinking and smoking. Idle chatter competed with blaring music that was being intermittently spewed forth from a sound system manned by an incompetent DJ.

Donna strutted towards the bar wearing nearly three-inch heels and a tight cocktail dress that was outrageous in appearance. Her mascara was heavily applied, emphasizing her already naturally long eyelashes. She'd also slathered on foundation, blush, eye-shadow and lipstick, going for the cheap, sexy look; her heavily-moussed hair was fashionably set in a way that accentuated her cheekbones. She was well-aware that her style and swagger earned her the lewd, lingering looks of several men as she passed by. She was also aware that three other pairs of eyes inside the club belonged to plainclothes officers from the team.

Settling on an empty stool at the bar, Donna instantly recognized the face of bartender/dealer Gary Philip Jankowski. From his rap sheet and mug shot, Donna knew he was Caucasian, five-feet, eight inches tall, twenty-eight years old, thin, with multiple tattoos and body piercings. Tonight, he was wearing a black T-shirt and blue jeans, was sporting a goatee, and had bleached his usually brown short, spiky hair platinum blond.

"What's a girl got to do to get something with a real good buzz around here?" she called out to him. "I want a Cosmo. With ice."

Gary smirked. He approached her, putting his hands on his hips and giving his head a pitying shake.

"Cosmos don't come with ice. You want something with _ice_, you gotta go somewhere else, lady," he drawled.

Donna-as-Melinda pouted. "But I… _like_ ice… aren't you bartenders supposed to keep stocked up on it? Isn't that like a _rule_ of bartending or something?"

"You're wasting your time with ice chips, girlfriend. Maybe I can interest you in something else?" Gary said, an enticing look in his eyes. "Or maybe you can't deal with a little smack-talk."

Donna wrinkled her nose, but was pleased that he'd completely understood her coded request for crystal meth when she'd spoken of wanting 'ice'.

"Talk is cheap," she finally said, indicating she was more interested in the 'smack' part of the deal – which she knew was a street name for heroin. "I want the best you have to offer."

"For five Cs, I'll serve the best," Gary cooed. "Our stuff's imported. It's a house special."

"Then serve me up, barkeep!" Donna stated loudly as she rooted around her purse, fingering some money that had been earmarked for this operation. She slapped the counter-top, and when she pulled her hand back, Gary saw she'd laid down five crisp hundred-dollar-bills. The bartender palmed the cash almost greedily and tinkered around behind the bar. Presently, a wide martini glass filled with some sort of pinkish, opaque alcoholic mixture was placed before her.

"Thanks," Donna said, taking what evidently passed for a Cosmopolitan in this club. She dipped her fingers inside and fished around the glass until she came up with a sealed bag. Inside the bag was precisely what she was hoping to find: five grams of a white, powdery substance.

"Where's the Ladies' room?" she asked coyly, depositing the tiny pouch in her purse. "Too much to drink tonight on the pub crawl…"

"Back there," Gary said, jerking a thumb in the general direction of the restrooms. "Let me know if you need anything else, okay, darlin'?"

Donna winked and hopped off the stool.

The restroom's condition was deplorable. It reeked of urine and feces, and Donna was sure it hadn't been cleaned in years. The lighting in here wasn't much better than the interior of the nightclub itself, but when she looked at the packet containing the drug, Donna was certain she was holding some high-purity heroin.

Outside the club, Bill was preparing to make an entrance of his own, but he was predictably being stonewalled by the two bouncers.

"Beat it, buddy," one of them said menacingly, puffing his chest in a show of dominance. "This part of town ain't safe for guys like you."

Bill lowered his glance self-consciously and looked down his shoes, pants and jacket as if he were second-guessing his choice of wardrobe. For this op, he'd elected to wear black patent-leather shoes and a crisp, expensive-looking gray business-suit with a light pinstripe pattern. He completed his disguise with nerdy horn-rimmed glasses and had slicked back his hair with copious amounts of Brylcreem.

"Look, I think my wife's in there," Bill said, affecting a wheedling, timid tone. "Please, I-I don't want any trouble… I just want to take her home, o-okay?"

"Your wife?" the second bouncer barked with an incredulous laugh. "What does this look like, a country club? Take off, before something _bad_ happens to you, pal."

"Uh, I-I can make it worth your while," Bill stammered. "You want money? I-I can give you cash if you'll just let me in… I-I promise I don't want any trouble…"

To prove his sincerity, Bill reached inside his suit jacket breastpocket and pulled out a wallet. He rifled through the billfold and displayed several twenties.

Bouncer number one swiftly closed one fist around the money and seized Bill by the back of his collar with the other.

"Get in," the hired muscle snarled, giving him a quick pat-down in the process. "You have three minutes. If you're not outta there by then, I'm coming in after you. Your kind scares off the customers."

"Okay! Okay!" Bill said, meekly raising his arms, showing he was complying as he was shoved inside the Viper.

After spending about ten minutes doing absolutely nothing, Donna finally looked at her reflection in one of the dull mirrors in the restroom. The reflective surface was scratched and peeling, giving Donna a distorted view of herself. It was time for a minor transformation. She gingerly turned on the faucet in the sink in front of her and splashed some water on her face. Using her fingers, she smeared her eye make-up a little and shook out her hair. Lastly, she slapped her cheeks fiercely several times to produce a flushed effect.

Sufficiently disheveled, Donna exited the restroom, taking slow, meandering steps back to her barstool.

Gary the bartender was immediately solicitous of her as she sat. "Everything to your liking?" he asked.

"Oh… yeah…" Donna replied airily. "I think I'm gonna like it here… Gonna tell all my friends…"

"You do that, babe," Gary said with a grin. "As long as they can pay, the bar's always open to you and your friends."

Donna giggled girlishly and bobbed her head up and down. "What if… what if they can't pay? That bindle just cost a bundle! Hee-hee… hey, that almost rhymes: Bindle-bundle…"

"Babe, if your friends are as pretty as you," Gary murmured, drawing nearer and looking meaningfully at her, "I'm sure we can work out some… alternate payment arrangements with my manager."

"Melinda!"

Donna-as-Melinda started at the sound of her name. Gary caught the anxious look on her face as she averted her glance. "Oh, God," she muttered. "I can't believe he found me…"

Gary peered past her to see a tall man in a tidy business suit approaching his client.

"Who is that guy?" Gary asked her quietly, realising she was not pleased that she'd been located by the newcomer.

"My husband," Donna groaned. "He's not supposed to be here…"

"Melinda, I'm talking to you!"

Donna turned around and flashed Bill a pale imitation of a smile. "Hi, Bobby," she said with false cheeriness.

Bill-as-Bobby strode directly to Donna and roughly grabbed her upper arm. "We're _leaving._ What have I told you about hanging out in places like this?"

"Let _go_ of me!" Donna protested, yanking herself away from Bill. "I _like_ it here! If you weren't such a tightly-wound jerk, you'd like it, too."

"Melinda, _look_ at yourself! What's the matter with you? You're dressed like a cheap escort. You don't belong here. We're going home right now!"

"I _said_ I like it here! If you wanna go home, go," Donna shot back.

"You're my wife! You'll do as I say!" Bill growled.

"Whoa, cool it, buddy," Gary said, trying to get Bill's attention.

"Stay out of this!" Bill snapped, flashing the bartender his middle finger.

"You're harassing my client," Gary pointed out, not at all intimidated. "I don't like it."

"Oh, she's your 'client', is she? I don't give a damn if you don't like it," Bill stated. "She's leaving with me, and she's not coming back."

With that, Bill wrenched Donna from the stool by grabbing a fistful of her hair. He began dragging her towards the exit.

Donna-as-Melinda cried out painfully in protest, and an incensed Gary hopped over the counter in pursuit.

"Let her go!" Gary yelled, putting a not-so-gentle hand on Bill's shoulder. Bill reacted by reeling around and decking Gary squarely in the face. He'd not put much weight behind the attack, as he didn't want to actually injure the bartender. He'd calculated that a weak punch would just irritate Gary and convince him that he lacked any real fighting skills.

Completely unfazed by Bill's punch, Gary hauled off a punch of his own, knocking Bill's eyeglasses away.

A few of the club's patrons took notice of the melee, but most carried on with whatever it was they were doing, indifferent to what was happening.

"Argh!" Bill cried, clutching his face with both hands. Now free, Donna scampered behind Gary, her new-found protector and champion.

"You see what he did?" Donna whimpered to Gary. "Don't let his clean-cut look fool you. That's exactly how he is at home. He's violent and unpredictable."

"Shut up, Melinda!" Bill roared, wiping at the blood trickling from his nose. "Can't you see he was going to attack me? I was just protecting myself. Get back over here!"

"No!" she wailed. "I'm never going anywhere with you ever again!"

"Get over here this instant, bitch!" Bill raged, his face flaring up with anger.

Tears were flowing from Donna's eyes now, smearing her eye make-up even more; giving her a clownish look. "No!" she asserted once again as she shrank against Gary.

"I think it's time for you to go, mister!"

Bill jumped a little as he heard the voice of one of the bouncers from behind. He turned around to face the brute.

"Your three minutes are over," the bouncer said sternly. "Get out."

A minor face-off was brewing, but Bill-as-Bobby seemed to be carefully considering his odds against the thickly-built bouncer. With a scowl and a huff, he turned away and started stomping his way out of the club. He stopped just before he reached the door and looked back at Donna.

"This is the last time, Melinda," he declared loudly, "you want to stay here and do whatever you want to? Fine! Stay! But don't think you can come crawling back."

"Bobby…" Donna sniffed, still clinging to Gary.

"We're done," Bill-as-Bobby continued. "All your fancy clothes; all the expensive cars and everything else? That's over. You understand me? We are done! Find yourself some other mine to dig, damned gold-digger!"

Bill shoved open the exit door and stalked out into the night.

* * *

><p>"Our friend, Gary Philip Jankowski, is a budding pimp," Donna commented dryly, as the team de-briefed late into the night about Phase One of their infiltration of the Viper. She'd since changed into more comfortable attire, all-too-happy to have shucked the tight, revealing dress and murderous high heels.<p>

"After our little 'altercation', he offered 'Melinda' his place if she wanted to crash for the night, and beyond that," Bill added, sounding slightly stuffy due to his sore nose.

Donna nodded. "I declined his offer for the time being, but… When I mentioned that I was going to invite all my friends to the Viper, Mr. Jankowski didn't seem to be concerned that these friends of mine might not be able to pay for his product. He said there would always be 'alternate' ways of paying."

"So what are we thinking, here? Is Cavell trying to get into prostitution, too?" Ignacio Perez asked the obvious question. "Or is this a solo venture by Jankowski?"

"We're not sure yet," Bill answered honestly. "From all we've been able to get on Cavell, he seems to be pretty content with the high-end drug racket. This whole Viper business is a new development, but getting his dealers to pimp for him seems a little too scuzzy, even for Cavell."

"Lab results aren't back yet on the stuff I picked up tonight, but I'm willing to bet it's very high-grade," Donna said to the team. "What's concerning is how much the price for this stuff has fallen. Jankowski wanted five hundred for five grams, which as you all know is well below average.

"We know heroin prices have been declining anyway, but that's usually in-line with the levels of the drug's purity. The stuff Cavell has been putting out… We think he's purposely undercutting the competition with a high level of purity product. Once he gets a wide-enough customer base addicted to it, the heroin market is his oyster. At that point, he can do whatever he wants."

"He can dilute the product, or jack up the prices," Bill added, "and we're _still_ not sure how the guy is bringing this stuff into the country."

"A person can get quickly addicted to this stuff or overdose if they're not used to this level of purity," Donna said with a shake of her head. "We _have_ to get Cavell off the streets."

"So, what's our next step?" Evan Braun ventured to ask.

"I'm heading back there early tomorrow," Donna said, after exchanging a glance with Bill. "I'm going to take Jankowski up on his little offer for room and board and see what I can dig up about Cavell's operation from him."

"Wharton; Perez: you're backing her up," Bill said, pointing to both men.

"The usual set-up?" Ignacio asked.

"Yes," Bill replied. "Perez, I need you to be already there before Donna arrives; Wharton, you get to be the 'concerned relative' trying to convince Donna to leave. The rest of you know your roles as either background players inside or at the ready to storm that place if things go south, right?"

He received several nods of affirmation from the team, and he dismissed them for the night, advising them that since they'd be getting an early start, they should get some much-needed rest.

Six men quietly filtered out, leaving Donna and Bill alone in the room.

Once he was sure no one could overhear them, Bill turned to Donna. "I didn't hurt you back there, did I?" he asked with concern, "you know, with the whole hair-yanking thing…"

She shook her head. "No. It was fine," she answered, trying to assuage his worry that he might have taken things a little too far. "You pulled off a great violent-husband act. Our Mr. Jankowski totally bought it."

"Okay, good," Bill said with a relieved sigh, reaching out a gentle hand to touch her face. "You missed a little smudge of eyeliner there…"

"Oh," Donna said, turning away from him, moving to one of the desks where there was a box of tissues. She wanted to make a clear point that outside of an 'act' for the sake of their cover stories, each and every kind of attempt at physical contact, no matter how innocent, was not going to happen.

"All right… See you tomorrow," he said, as he tossed his suit jacket over his shoulder.

"Bright and early," she replied, dabbing at the supposed smudge of make-up on her face. She watched Bill leave, hoping once again he was clear on the nature of their relationship.

_We're partners and we're friends,_ she thought fervently as she climbed into her truck for the drive home, _we're best friends, in fact, but that's all._

They'd been through so much together already; their partnership was too valuable to the success of the Cavell case to risk blowing it over some misguided emotional entanglements.

Donna reflected that it was very good to see Bill back in fine form for this new stage in the Cavell case. He'd been clear-headed without a whiff of booze about him.

_Maybe he's going to be fine after all_, she thought, feeling a lift in her spirits that things were finally coming together again for the better. She sent up a silent prayer it would continue that way.


	4. Chapter 4

**Kill Bill**

**Part IV**

* * *

><p>The Viper, being a 'nightclub', wasn't officially open for business in the morning, but it had a regular clientele known to haunt its innards at any hour, day or night. Illegal activities didn't cease simply because the hour was early; drug deals and numbers rackets alike could be quietly going down at any time, hence the reason the Viper was never completely devoid of occupancy.<p>

Bill and his team were of course counting on this, and Ignacio Perez was inside at seven-thirty AM. He was there with his confidential informant, a.k.a. the man who had first alerted them to the fact that Neil Cavell had people dealing out of the club. Ignacio's CI, known as Vinny MacDonnell, was about thirty-five years old, and had been a reliable source of information for close to a year now.

People who were informants for the cops were looked upon by other criminals as worse than week-old regurgitated food eaten at an unlicensed greasy-spoon diner. As such, Vinny had every reason to be cautious. If Cavell or anyone else knew he was informing on them, his life could be in jeopardy.

To his credit, he was willing to sit calmly with Ignacio, who was continuing to establish his identity as a pal of Vinny's, as well as a regular patron of the Viper Nightclub. There actually wasn't much happening at this hour inside the club, but Ignacio knew there was soon going to be a little excitement.

At about 7:58 AM, one of the club's 'security' personnel allowed entrance to a seemingly very hung-over Donna Sabine, once again reprising her role as 'Melinda'.

"I left it in here last night, I think…" she was saying to the 'guard', her words sliding out of her mouth absently, as if she really wasn't aware of what she was talking about. For this second phase of the operation, Donna-as-Melinda had squeezed back into the skimpy dress she'd worn the evening before. Her hair and make-up were a total mess, which hopefully planted the notion that she'd had a very rough night, wherever it was she'd chosen to spend it.

She lurched to and fro, head jerking every so often, and she wandered across the dim room for several minutes, appearing to be looking for something. When she stumbled into one of the club's wrought-iron, glass-topped tables, Donna-as-Melinda paused for a moment to steady herself.

Vinny looked on with amusement at Donna's antics, and Ignacio noticed that two other men seated nearby had also taken notice.

"It's not here," Donna lamented to herself, but had spoken loudly enough that everyone heard her. She plopped down sadly on one of the chairs with an utterly forlorn expression on her face; her purse landed unceremoniously on the floor with a soft thud.

From the entrance door, Ignacio heard the voice of James Wharton, begging to be let inside. Ignacio lit up a cigarette and waited for the other cop to make his appearance.

"…Look, she's my sister, okay?" Wharton said loudly. "Let me get her out of there… She said she wasn't going to be long, but she's been in there long enough."

"Get in, get her, and then beat it," the guy on sentry duty grunted to Wharton.

A light seemed to go on in Donna's head as her face brightened. She slipped from her seat down to the floor and began crawling around on her hands and knees.

"Mel?" James Wharton called out. "Melinda, where are you?"

Donna-as-Melinda seemed not to hear as she peeked under all the tables and chairs that she randomly encountered on her search.

"Melinda!" Wharton cried out in dismay as soon as he spotted her. He made his way over to her quickly and was by her side in seconds.

Donna pointedly ignored him and kept up her hunt for her lost item.

"Melinda, what are you doing?" Wharton asked, appearing to be mortified by her current condition and behaviour. "Get up, would you? This floor is filthy! For God's sake, what's the matter with you?"

"Lea'me alone, Scott," she mumbled. "I hafta find it."

"Find _what_, Mel?" Wharton-as-Scott questioned.

"My hamburger," Donna wailed, as if she'd misplaced an object of inestimable value. "I had it last night… and now it's gone! I put it in a box under the table…"

"Mel, get up. You're embarrassing yourself…" Wharton reached down and put a hand around her upper arm.

"Don't _touch me_!" Donna shrieked, slapping his hand away. "I'm looking for my burger…"

"Look… We'll get you another one someplace else, okay?" Wharton said pacifyingly, trying not to agitate her.

Donna just sat numbly with a large pout on her face, refusing to acknowledge 'Scott'.

"_Okay?_" Wharton repeated more forcefully, hoping to spur 'Melinda' into action.

When she remained unresponsive, 'Scott' again grabbed her arm in frustration.

"Don't!" 'Melinda' yelled obstinately, this time more out of annoyance than anything else. "Let me go…"

"You know what, Mel?" 'Scott' said with a sigh of exasperation, "I'm sick of this. I really thought you'd pulled yourself together, finally, when you and Bob got married, but it's just the same crap. You're such a disgrace! You wanna wreck your life? Be my guest. That's the last time I let you crash at my place, got it?"

Wharton stood for a moment as if he were waiting for Donna to change her mind about his ultimatum and leave with him.

"I don't think she wants to go anywhere with you, buddy," Ignacio piped up from his chair opposite Vinny.

"Stay out of this, _buddy_," Wharton-as-Scott retorted, sending Perez a dirty look.

"Just sayin'," Ignacio returned with a shrug, then said no more, crushing out his cigarette on the tabletop.

After a few beats, Wharton gave up and stalked out, leaving Donna still seated on the floor of the Viper Nightclub.

"Thought he'd never leave," she muttered, and drew herself up unsteadily, requiring the assistance of one of the more structurally-sound chairs to keep from falling down. "Can't do anything without people botherin' me…"

Donna looked around the club, looking for a sympathetic face and ear she might appeal to. "You see what happened?"

"Sure did, babe," Ignacio said lightly.

"Everybody just puts me down, y'know? Well, I don't have to take that kind of crap from nobody!" 'Melinda' continued, easing into the chair she'd just been holding onto.

"Nope," Ignacio answered agreeably.

"Like I wanna hear that kind of talk from my own brother first thing in the morning!" she griped, fully focused on Ignacio. "I mean, God! Let me eat something first! Hey, you didn't see a hamburger lying around, did you?"

Ignacio shook his head. "Can't say I have," he replied.

"Damn," Donna said, disappointment spreading across her face. "Anybody know when they start serving drinks in this place? I'm feelin' _thirsty_… This place has the best bartender. Is he around? He's a total sweetheart…"

"He don't get up 'til later," informant Vinny put in. "Come back tonight."

"But I want something _now,_" Donna complained, her pout intensifying. She cocked her head to one side and looked up, taking notice of the club's second-level balcony. "Is he upstairs? There's rooms up there, right? He told me I could stay with him last night…"

Vinny just shrugged.

Undaunted, Donna rose from her seat on wobbly legs and clumsily clomped her way towards the staircase, stopping momentarily to pick up her almost-forgotten purse along the way. Ignacio kept his eyes on her as she ascended slowly and unsteadily.

"Hey! Bartender guy! You up here?" Donna-as-Melinda shouted when she reached the top of the stairs. She pounded on the first door she came across.

"Hey!" she called out again. "You in here? Yoo-hoo! Mr. Bartender… I'm looking for more of that… stuff you served me last night…"

A door further down the hall creaked open, and a sleepy-eyed Gary Philip Jankowski poked his head through.

Catching sight of him, Donna beamed. "There you are!" she trilled as she rushed towards him. "Last night you said I could crash with you anytime, remember? I'm taking you up on that offer, now."

Gary squinted at her for a moment and shook loose the early-morning cobwebs that were hindering his brain processes.

"Oh, yeah… yeah… Cosmo-lady… Melinda, right?" he said with a grin. "You leave that ass-hat husband of yours?"

"I don't want to talk about him," Donna-as-Melinda said in reply, a trace of bitterness colouring her words. "I just want to be here with you. You're nice."

She smiled at him demurely. "Yeah, I am a nice guy," Gary replied, returning her smile.

"So… you gonna let me in?" Donna asked.

"Sure! Yeah, yeah," Gary said enthusiastically, making room for her to pass. Donna ducked under his outstretched arm and stepped inside his tiny two-room suite.

Gary's 'living area' was one of several suites on the upper level of the Viper's layout. It housed a bed, some other meagre furnishings, a toilet, shower and sink. Gary also had a flat-screen TV and DVD player crammed into one corner of the room and a small couch shoved against one of the walls.

It was decent enough, Donna thought, though she doubted Gary really spent much time there. Their intel on him told them that he had an actual residence in the Parkdale area, which was a house that had passed to him after his parents had died three years earlier.

"Make yourself at home, babe. You can use the couch to sleep," Gary said to her, closing the door behind him. "Bathroom's in there. You can take a shower if you like; there's a clean towel on the rack."

"Thanks," Donna said, and decided she'd do just that.

While she ran the water in shower of the cubby-hole of a bathroom, she took a quick peek in the toilet tank. Gary had a fairly large stash of heroin in a tightly-sealed package submerged in the tank water. Donna shook her head. It was such an obvious hiding-place; too obvious, in fact. Either Gary was very stupid, or he thought he was too good to be caught and therefore took zero precautions.

She wondered how Neil Cavell would feel if he knew his dealer was storing his product in such a ridiculous and vulnerable place. Well, maybe Gary kept it there so he could flush it away quickly should the necessity arise. Donna marvelled at the number of times she'd caught dealers trying to dispose of drug evidence by dumping it into the toilet.

The towel Gary had mentioned looked fairly clean, so Donna stripped down and stepped inside the cramped, grimy shower stall just long enough to get her hair thoroughly soaked. The water that sputtered from the old shower-head was lukewarm at best, even more of a reason to keep the shower-time to a minimum.

Her skin was barely wet, but Donna made sure that with a fully-drenched head of hair, and with the length of time she'd run the water prior to stepping under the stream, Gary would believe she really had been standing in there for a while.

She wrapped herself in the thin towel and waltzed out of the bathroom, gathering up her dress and undergarments on the way.

Gary was not in the suite when she looked around, but Donna spied an almost illegibly-written note left on the couch:

_Gone for breakfast. Back in 10 mins._

She took that opportunity to open a hidden compartment in her purse. With swift, precise movements, she withdrew a tiny listening device and concealed it inside a lighting fixture in the main room. She planted a second one in another lamp in Gary's tiny bedroom. Unless Neil Cavell employed highly paranoid people to deal for him, Donna seriously doubted anyone would think to sweep for bugs; these devices would never be discovered.

There was a size large man's sweater crumpled on the floor next to Gary's un-made bed. Donna un-wrapped the towel from around herself and picked up the sweater. She shrugged into it, ignoring the odor of stale cologne and perspiration emanating from it.

With the towel slung around her shoulders, Donna exited Gary's bedroom and over to the couch to wait for the bartender's return. She grabbed the remote control and turned on the TV, making herself as 'at home' as she could.

_Live! With Regis and Kelly_ was about to start, and Donna decided she'd just leave it there, even though she had zero interest in actually watching. It was more for her team's benefit that she'd turned on the television, anyway. With the bugs in place, they'd need to do a sound check and calibrate the volume levels, which included any kind of ambient sounds and background noises.

The door to the suite opened, and Gary walked in clutching a paper bag and coffee tray with two large cups slotted in.

"Hey," he greeted with a smile. "I got food."

Donna jumped up excitedly to meet him and kissed his cheek, hoping to appear impulsive, though the move was well-calculated on her part.

"Oh, I'm _starved_," Donna-as-Melinda breathed. "What did you get?"

He let her take the bag, and she pawed into it, pulling out a bacon and egg sandwich that he'd picked up at a nearby A&W fast-food outlet. She unwrapped it and hungrily bit in, taking one of the coffee cups as well.

"Thank you," she said, after gulping down that first bite of sandwich. "This is great!"

Gary sipped his own coffee very casually, eying her as she reclined on the couch and continued to eat.

"Borrowed your sweater," Donna mentioned. "Hope you don't mind."

Her benefactor shook his head. "I don't mind," he said. "You look like a college co-ed like that. A pretty hot one, too."

"You're sweet," she giggled.

"Seriously," Gary affirmed. "That guy last night – your husband – you're wasting your time with him. What a certifiable jerk. Guys like him… man, I wanted to pound his head into the ground."

"You nearly did," Donna said, adopting a serious tone. "Thanks for that, too. You don't know what it's like… living with someone like that…"

"Hey…" the bartender said gently, crossing over to the couch. He settled next to her and put his hands on her shoulders. "He won't hurt you ever again, I promise."

With wide eyes, Donna allowed herself to appear to be taken by Gary's solemn vow. "Really?" she asked, as if this man had become her only life-line.

"Really," Gary replied with a resolute nod.

With that, Donna dropped her half-eaten sandwich on her lap and broke into spontaneous tears.

"Why are you being so kind to me?" she sobbed, hoping Gary was buying into her emotionally-fragile state.

"I told you: that's just the kind of guy I am. Besides, you're the prettiest client I've ever had, and I'm sure we'll be able to find some way for you to repay my kindness later - if you're feeling like you _owe_ me, or something."

"Oh, I _do_ owe you!" Donna sniffed. She dabbed her eyes with the sleeve of Gary's sweater. "I'll do _anything_. I can't just live off your charity. It's not fair to you."

"That's a good girl," Gary said, stroking the side of her head. "Don't cry. We'll think of something, okay?"

"Okay," she said fervently, and composed herself once again.

"Good. Now that that's over, I need to go out," Gary stated, rising from the couch. "I've got a meeting with a friend of mine."

"A meeting?" Donna echoed. "Can I come, too?"

Gary frowned. "I don't think so, babe. I mean, you're not really dressed for a meeting. Maybe next time, okay?"

"All right," she sighed, not bothering to hide her apparent disappointment at being brushed off so easily. "Don't be too long, though. I get lonely…"

"I'll be back by lunchtime. If you need to go out for any reason at all, the door locks from the inside, okay?" Gary instructed her.

"Door locks from the inside," Donna repeated. "Got it."

"And don't let anybody in, okay? No one's really supposed to be snooping around up here, understand?"

"Sure thing," Donna stated, trying to impress upon him she was taking his words to heart.

"Pretty _and_ smart," Gary commented approvingly. "Okay, I'm hitting the shower before I go."

He slipped the towel off her shoulders and retreated to the bathroom with a clean shirt and pair of jeans and boxers. Once he was inside, Donna listened closely to his motions and detected the tell-tale noises of porcelain scraping against porcelain. The heroin dealer was checking to ensure his stash was still secure.

_So he's not _as_ dumb as I thought he was,_ Donna mulled. _Ten-to-one he's off to meet with Cavell or one of his lieutenants about what his next move will be..._

She heard the shower running for several minutes, followed by a toilet flush and the sounds of teeth-brushing. Well, at least Gary cared enough about his personal hygiene before going to meet with his 'friend', she thought.

Once Gary had departed, Donna carefully combed the rest of the tiny suite for any more drugs besides what was in the toilet. She found none, but did discover a handgun under Gary's mattress. The serial numbers were missing, probably removed with acid. With a frown, Donna returned the weapon to its place.

"He's packing heat under the mattress," Donna spoke out loud, letting her fellow officers on surveillance know that Gary was in possession of a firearm. "It's a .40 calibre compact Smith and Wesson; standard ten rounds… it's untraceable. There's also a significant stash of heroin in the toilet tank."

Forewarned was forearmed, as far as she was concerned.

True to his word, Gary returned just after the noon hour. He found Donna sitting on the couch, watching TV.

"How'd your meeting go?" she asked him.

"Oh, fine," he said, looking at her intently. "I told him about you."

"Really?" Donna asked, taking her attention off the television screen.

"Yeah," Gary answered. "He's got some great ideas, my friend, and we think there's a great way for you to start earning your keep. Put your dress back on. There's someone we'd like for you to get acquainted with, and we want you to look your best for when you meet him."

Donna-as-Melinda allowed a smile of pleasure to spread across her face. Donna the cop went on high alert.

"Who do you want me to meet?" Donna asked, sounding genuinely eager to assist Gary and his unseen 'friend' any way she could.

"Judge Jonathan Hopkins," Gary replied. "We need you to keep him company tonight."

Of all the names Donna was expecting to hear, Judge Hopkins' was nowhere remotely near the top of her list, and her heart sank. Hopkins was one of the most honest judges in the city. She'd testified before him on numerous occasions as a beat cop and during her time with the Drug Squad. He had a reputation for taking a hard stance on drug-related crimes, which earned him no friends in the drug community, but a lot of respect from the cops.

Hiding her shock as best she could, Donna instead asked: "Why me?"

"Because you're the only one who can do it," Gary replied testily. "No more questions, all right? You said you'd be cool with doing whatever you had to do to thank me for helping you out; this is how you're going to repay me, got it?"

"Okay… I got it," Donna answered, behaving like a cowed animal.

Gary relented with a soft smile. "Hey, don't worry, Melinda," he spoke with a calming voice, "all you need to do is make Judge Hopkins comfortable. We're booking you a room at a hotel near the bar he likes to hang out. Have a few drinks with him… invite him back to your room for a nightcap – that sort of thing."

Understanding was starting to dawn on Donna.

"There's only one thing my… friend… really needs you to do, though, Melinda, and you can't screw it up," Gary added.

Donna-as-Melinda considered carefully how to respond. "I'll do whatever it takes," she finally answered.

"Good girl." Gary nodded with approval. He reached into one of his pockets and removed a vial. "Put a little of this stuff into one of Judge Hopkins' drinks before you take him back to your hotel."

"What is it?"

Donna already had a pretty good idea what was in the vial, but let Melinda's airhead persona take over as she reached for the tiny glass capsule.

A scowl crossed Gary's face. "No questions, Melinda. Just do it, okay?"

"B-but, it's not gonna _kill_ him, is it?" Donna-as-Melinda wanted to know, peering at the colourless liquid suspiciously. She hoped she sounded fearful enough for Gary to reveal a little more of what was being planned for Hopkins.

"Of course it's not gonna kill him! Don't be an idiot," Gary hissed. "It's just going to knock him out for a while. After he conks out, you get out of the room. I'll be waiting in the lobby, and you'll give me your key card. You understanding everything I'm telling you so far?"

Donna bobbed her head up and down. "Yes."

"All right," Gary said with a sigh of relief. "Go on; get dressed. I'll be back with your room reservation information in about an hour… don't go anywhere or talk to _anybody_, got it?"

"Got it," Donna answered with a curt nod. She got up from the couch with her dress and crossed to the bedroom while Gary left the suite to run his aforementioned errand.

Once inside the bedroom, Donna started up a dialogue with her team, though she knew it would be a one-sided conversation.

"I'm not sure _exactly_ what they're planning," she said aloud, "but it's going to involve some drinks laced with GHB and a late-night stay at a hotel room, in case you missed all that. Best guess is they're hoping to set up Judge Hopkins with some ugly pictures or something."

She wasn't sure how they should let this one play out. Setting up Hopkins would certainly earn her massive amounts of trust with Gary and his 'friend', but it would not be good for a decent judge like Hopkins. Compromising pictures had a bad habit of showing up at the worst possible moment, ruining careers and lives.

There was much at stake, but Donna wasn't sure she was ready to risk the reputation of a good judge for the sake of getting closer to Neil Cavell.

The call wasn't ultimately going to be hers, but she hoped that Bill, as leader of the team and thereby the final decision-maker, would find a way to protect Hopkins from any nasty fallout if she proceeded with Gary Jankowski's set-up.

Finally, Donna worried that if she was indeed given the green light to approach Hopkins in the bar, she'd need a hell of a cover story. After all, the judge knew her as Donna Sabine, Officer of the Law, not as Melinda, heroin addict and meth-freak.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Sorry for the lengthy delay. Had other things going on that interfered with my writing time. Now that those things are out of the way, I hope to be able to be a bit more consistent with updates. Here's chapter 5. **

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><p><strong>Kill Bill<strong>

**Part V**

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><p>"You look like a million bucks, babe," Gary Jankowski commented as Donna set off for her encounter with Judge Jonathan Hopkins that night.<p>

"Thanks," Donna said breathlessly, eager to soak up a compliment – any compliment – just to continue the act that 'Melinda' felt she was totally beholden to Gary, and that he was now her sole source of support and affirmation.

On Gary's prodding, Donna had spent much of the afternoon having her hair and makeup attended to, since neither had been in the greatest state of repair after her supposed 'rough night', and the 'shower' in the suite at the Viper.

Her team had been ready to follow her movements, and as such, had been able to have Officer Evan Braun available to 'meet' her at the unisex salon and spa she'd announced to Gary she'd be using for her hairstyling and makeup.

Donna and Evan had entered the salon at the same time, hoping to give the impression to the staff and other customers that they were together. To emphasize the point, Evan muttered: "I'll just sit here and wait, honey," and retired to one of the chairs reserved for such a purpose.

The young woman at the counter had advised Donna that it would be approximately twenty minutes before someone could attend to her, and Donna replied she didn't mind waiting. She gave her name as 'Melinda', indicated she wanted a trim and facial with a makeover, and turned to take a seat next to Evan.

"Here's that rag you always like to read," he'd murmured, handing her a glossy magazine. Donna had taken it from him and idly flipped through before settling on a particular section.

Instructions for what she was to do when meeting with Judge Jonathan Hopkins were tucked inside the pages. Donna assimilated the information in Bill's plan quickly, thoroughly committing everything to memory.

Just as Gary Jankowski had ordered, she was to approach Judge Hopkins at his favourite bar and follow through with an invitation for a nightcap at her hotel. The key card for her room at the Ritz Carlton was already in her purse.

Now, as Donna sauntered into the Ladybird Lounge, an intimate Jazz and Blues club on Wellington, she made brief eye contact once again with Evan, who was posing as a bar patron.

The main level of the Ladybird was flanked on both sides by five rows of booths with space enough for six. Twelve tables that could each comfortably seat four surrounded the horseshoe-shaped service bar, which was in the center of the room. The bar was actually three steps down from the main level so that those seated at the tables behind it still had an unobstructed view of the performers onstage at the far end of the room opposite the entrance.

Donna found an unoccupied booth on the right side of the lounge and slid inside, looking around carefully for the judge. After a few moments, she spotted him sitting at the bar. In fact, Hopkins had already been there thirty minutes and had just ordered his second drink of the evening.

Judge Jonathan Eric Hopkins was a third-generation Canadian of Welsh decent. In his mid-sixties, he was about six feet tall and carried an extra twenty pounds, mostly around his middle. Not exactly the picture of perfect health, he was on medication to combat elevated levels of what his physician called "the bad kind" of cholesterol, and was also at risk for diabetes and heart disease. His face was jowly, unprepossessing and craggy-looking. Hopkins could boast, however, of his still-full head of dark brown hair, barely touched by grey.

As she looked at the older man from her position in the booth, Donna reflected on the numerous occasions their paths had crossed. She'd been before him as a witness for the prosecution many times in her career; knew that Judge Hopkins brooked no insolence in his courtroom, and didn't suffer fools gladly. He was known for handing out stern warnings and stiff sentences to those found guilty of serious drug offenses, especially if the accused was a repeat offender.

"If they refuse to reform, then we have to make sure they stay off the streets," he'd say. Recidivism was clearly one of his peeves. Donna had to confess that she was also not fond of a system that allowed a serious and habitual offender to walk through prison bars like they were revolving doors. Arresting them would just become an exercise in futility if they were out again in six months.

No, Hopkins was definitely one of the 'good guys'; a friend of the cops, which was going to make her current assignment more than just a little bit uncomfortable. If all went according to plan, he would be leaving with 'Melinda' to get to the room Gary had reserved for her at the hotel. People in the Ladybird and at the Ritz Carlton would undoubtedly see them together. Even though nothing was ultimately going to happen between them, Donna knew the 'optics' of the whole thing could be very bad for Hopkins.

The house band had just started into a loud, driving swing piece, charging the room with an electric energy and a percussive pulse. Voices of the Ladybird's clients also increased in volume that much more so on-going conversations could be heard and maintained.

Hopkins was sipping his gin and tonic. To Donna's eyes, he was looking a little morose for the upbeat mood the tempo of the music should have been stirring within him. Those who knew him were aware that Hopkins was a jazz aficionado, and the Ladybird was one of the best spots in town for great live music, often attracting famous acts that could drop by on a whim, much to the surprised delight of adoring patrons. Those who knew Hopkins also knew not to get him started on the subject of jazz music, because he could talk about his favourite musicians and vocalists at length, along with treatises about his treasured collection of albums and CDs.

There just seemed to be a sad, melancholic air about him, and Donna remembered that the judge was a recent widower. _An anniversary of some _kind? she wondered, thinking that it couldn't be easy to be suddenly alone after years and years of sharing a life with someone.

_Or maybe he just had a tough day in court_, Donna mused, picking herself up and making her way over to one of the empty stools at the bar that just happened to be right next to the good judge.

He didn't take notice of her right away. His face was a blank slate; eyes open and staring at nothing in particular. Donna ordered a drink from the bartender.

"Cosmo," she said, in keeping with 'Melinda's habits.

The band finished their song to the sound of polite, if not appreciative applause from the crowd.

Judge Hopkins took a long swallow of his gin and tonic, knocking his head back to allow the rest of the liquid to more easily spill down his throat.

Donna recognized the bluesy opening notes of 'Nature Boy', a solo effort by the band's trumpeter. The bassist then eased into the mix slowly, adding subtle texture to the high soaring notes of the brass instrument.

"Mmmm…" she sighed softly, looking out intently at the bandstand. "I just love this song. I can never remember what it's called, though…" She started bobbing her head to the soft effect the percussionist was creating as he began lightly tapping his brushes on the drums in time with the bassist's plucking.

"It's 'Nature Boy'," Hopkins answered her question dryly without looking at her, putting his empty glass down on the counter. "Eden Ahbez; 1947."

Donna turned to him gratefully with a broad smile. "Is it, really? Gee, thanks!"

Hopkins sent her a sideways glance and gave a curt nod before doing a surprised double-take. That was it; he'd recognized her. He was struggling, though, to bring her name to the fore, momentarily unable to remember which side of his courtroom she might have appeared.

He opened his mouth to say something, but all he could manage was: "I-I… uh… you- you're…"

Quickly, Donna brought a finger to his lips to quiet his sputtering. "Shhh… Don't say a word."

She saw the confusion on his face as she leaned in closer and brought her own lips to his ear. "I need you to trust me right now," she whispered. "I'm on the job. We believe you've been targeted by a heroin dealer named Neil Cavell. My team is working right now to make sure you're kept out of harm's way tonight, _but in case we're being watched_, I need you to play along and do everything I tell you to do. Do you understand?"

Donna pulled back and looked at his stunned face. "Well?" she asked with a smile, raising her eyebrows, awaiting his answer.

His reply was briefly delayed as the bartender, apologizing for the wait, returned with Donna's drink order.

"Uh… yeah, I-I understand…" Hopkins stammered out at last, and asked for a third drink from the bartender.

Donna picked up her Cosmo and took a sip, reflecting that it looked a hundred times better than the murky travesty that Gary had served her at the Viper the night before.

"So! My name's Melinda," Donna said brightly to Hopkins, carrying on with their charade of an encounter, "what's yours?"

The judge cleared his throat. "It's Jonathan... uh, Jon…"

"Well, nice to meet you, Jon," Donna chattered away. They made small-talk about the usual mundane things two people who had never met before might talk about. Their idle conversation ranged from the mayor's recent snafus to the prospects the NHL home team had of securing a playoff spot next season to the weather.

The judge was nervous; Donna could tell plainly enough. She felt for him. This probably wasn't the first time he'd been threatened by criminals; in a way, he faced some of the same occupational hazards that she did. As a cop, she risked upsetting a lot of bad people who could pose a dangerous threat to her safety. As a judge, Jonathan Hopkins risked _really_ upsetting a lot of bad people. Staying above the filth couldn't have been easy throughout his career, because Donna knew for every honest judge like Hopkins, there were ten dishonest ones in the pockets of the wealthy criminals.

He had questions, of course. His eyes were panicked and perplexed. Yet, to his credit, Hopkins' mouth moved and his voice worked as he kept up his end of the conversation in as normal a fashion as he could manage.

Donna kept up her side of her 'Melinda' persona, openly flirting with him, all the while aware that Evan Braun had them safely under observation. She was aware, too, of a single man sitting in a booth to her oblique left who kept texting on a cell phone. She'd noticed him looking over in her direction multiple times from the moment she'd made contact with Judge Hopkins, but subtlety wasn't the man's strong suit. Clearly, cell-phone man was shadowing her and relaying information back to Gary about how things were progressing with the judge.

A half-hour later, Hopkins drained his fourth drink and was about to order a fifth when Donna put a hand on his arm to stop him.

"I have a better idea, Jon," she said coaxingly. "I've got a room at the Ritz Carlton. It's got a mini-bar. Come with me."

A look of astonishment and consternation crossed the judge's face. "I'm not sure that's such a good-"

"You'll be _fine_," Donna cut in, taking hold of his hand and interlocking her fingers with his. "You can _trust_ me!"

His face flushed a little and he swallowed nervously. "I-I never do this sort of thing," he said. "I'm a judge… I shouldn't…"

"I know," Donna said, trying her best to assuage his natural fears. She looked directly into his eyes, hoping to telegraph that she was taking the situation very seriously, and that she needed his cooperation. "It's going to be okay."

"Okay," he muttered as he relented.

Her smile was one of relief as she climbed off the bar stool and pulled Hopkins from his. She led him out of the Ladybird and into the cool night. On foot, they made it to the Ritz Carlton in under ten minutes. Predictably, the man with the cell phone had followed. He'd tried to be discreet, but Donna had spotted him almost immediately when she'd briefly stopped to 'admire' herself in the glass of a boutique window. Even with the creep shadowing them, Donna was secure in the knowledge that Evan Braun wasn't far behind.

With Hopkins in tow, Donna strutted directly towards a bank of elevators off the hotel's spacious main foyer, breezing past the admittance desk while digging out her key card. She took note of Officer James Wharton, who was seated in a club chair in the waiting area near the entrance, reading a newspaper with a suitcase at his side.

Donna and Hopkins rode up to the seventh floor to the Club Deluxe room Gary had booked, which had an impressive view of Lake Ontario. Once inside, she set down her purse on the coffee table and pulled open one of the curtains to look out on the lake. The bright, colourful city lights sparkled and reflected cheerily on its dark, calm surface.

Judge Hopkins sidled up next to her. He was silent for a few beats, also gazing out into the night.

"Okay," he finally said, voice firm and commanding, "I've been quiet long enough; played along with this charade for as long as I was able to tolerate… Now it's time for some answers. What _the hell is going on_?"

Donna had been expecting this and didn't react at all to his outburst. Instead, she regarded him calmly.

"Thank you for leaving with me, Your Honour," she said quietly; respectfully. She dropped all trace of her 'Melinda' cover and went straight for the professional police officer that she was in reality.

"Don't thank me just yet," he rejoined in a testy tone. "I'm still not one-hundred-percent sure this was a good idea."

"I know you recognized me back there at the Ladybird," Donna stated. "You're obviously aware that my name isn't really 'Melinda' – it's Donna Sabine, and I'm a constable. I've been on your witness stand many times in the past, testifying for the Crown."

Judge Hopkins nodded in relief and appreciation. "Thank you, constable. I knew you'd been in my courtroom before, but your –ah, choice of undercover attire threw me a little in the beginning."

"As it was supposed to," Donna said. "Now, here's what's going on: In the course of my team's investigation of a man named Neil Cavell – a heroin dealer – we uncovered a plot to compromise you."

"You mentioned his name at the Ladybird," Hopkins commented, "but I've never even heard of him before tonight."

"He's an up-and-comer," Donna went on, "and so far, he's been virtually untouchable. He's a very hands-off kind of guy, as far as we've been able to determine. But we firmly believe he's got a definite game-plan, and one of his moves involves having some dirt on _you_."

Judge Hopkins looked like he was considering this. He ran a hand over his mouth and exhaled.

"…And you're the 'bait' I was supposed to take so this Cavell swine could have something to hold over my head should he ever need a 'judicial favour' from me, is that it?" he posited with a disgusted expression. "What… are there hidden cameras in here taking pictures of us or something?"

Donna shook her head. "No, no cameras. My team swept for recording devices before we arrived."

"So, what, then?" Hopkins asked, clearly agitated.

"Well, according to the plan, I'm supposed to slip 'a little something' into your drink and leave you passed out on the bed."

"And after that?"

"After that, I'm supposed to give Cavell's guy my key card."

"And then?" Judge Hopkins pressed, looking extremely concerned.

"Then…" Donna stated slowly, "oh… let's just say it's a good thing I'm not really a hooker with a vial of GHB in her purse, and that you're not going to be unconscious so a drug dealer can plant drug paraphernalia around you."

The judge scoffed. "I'm guessing –_hoping_ – that you've got something a little different in mind?"

"You guessed right," Donna replied with a small smile. "We do have something a little different in mind. We're just going to kill some time for now."

A look of relief crossed the man's face. "Good," he sighed, turning away from the window and settling heavily into one of the upholstered chairs. His hands kneaded the armrests nervously.

"Are you all right, Your Honour?" Donna asked with some measure of concern. He was visibly perspiring, and he pulled out a handkerchief to dab at his streaming forehead.

"We're not in my chambers or my courtroom, constable," he said, almost chidingly. "Please, just call me 'Jonathan' or 'Jon'."

"Okay," Donna said agreeably, "but you didn't answer my question, 'Jon'."

He looked up at her and just shook his head tiredly when he realised she wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily.

"You were brooding back at the Ladybird. Is everything all right?" she prodded. "Do you need a drink of water or something to eat?"

"No, no," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'm fine. I'm just tired. A little stressed. Shocked, too, I guess…"

Donna gave a wry smile of understanding. "I guess it's not every day an undercover officer meets you in a bar and asks you up to a hotel room where she tells you you've been targeted by a drug dealer."

"Yeah, you've got _that_ right," Hopkins replied with a short, mirthless laugh.

She crossed over to the chair opposite him and sat down, giving her feet a rest. Once again, her ridiculously high-heeled shoes were causing her untold torment.

"May I ask you something while we 'kill time', constable?"

"Sure," Donna replied amicably.

"Why do you do it?"

"Do what?" she asked.

"This _job_," Hopkins stated plainly. "A beautiful woman like you, getting involved with dirtbags and scum, letting them use you and abuse you… doing things no decent human being should be expected to do…"

He trailed off and looked away from her, unable to continue.

"Someone has to," Donna said simply, "and it's not like I do it alone. I have a partner and a team who have my back every second. In fact, one of them is sitting down in the foyer right now, listening in to every word we say."

Hopkins started and shot a surprised glance back her way.

"There's a listening device in my purse," she said slyly, pointing to where it was on the coffee table between them. "And there was another officer watching us the whole time we were at the Ladybird."

Nevertheless, Hopkins shook his head. He frowned and looked unconvinced, clearly of the opinion that nothing justified the appalling activities and risks her job could potentially demand of her.

"I guess my real question is _how_ do you stand to do it?" he asked, helplessly throwing out his hands.

"You get used to it," Donna answered flatly. "My partner and I made a pact: That no matter what this job did to us, made us do, or turned us into, we were going to be there for each other. I might not be the same person I was before I became an undercover cop, but my partner hasn't let me down yet."

"So, you haven't lost your soul, is that what you're saying?" Hopkins wanted to know.

"I hope not," Donna answered honestly, her thoughts turning instantly to Bill, and how close _he_ had recently come to entirely losing himself. "But… this job does make it hard to keep it all together."

Hopkins looked like he was almost afraid of offending her with his next question. "Are you married, constable?"

Donna gave her head a negative shake. Her reply was straightforward and emotionless. "No, I'm not."

"It's because of the job, isn't it," Hopkins went on, not really expecting her to answer. "I'll tell you something: being alone is the pits."

At these words, Donna raised an eyebrow.

"You seem like a really good person, Constable Sabine. You should think about what kind of life you could have for yourself apart from the _job_," Hopkins stated seriously."If you're scared that this job is going to make it too hard to find someone to be with for the rest of your life, then maybe you need to think about getting out while you still can; before it destroys you completely. The job doesn't need to define you. In fact, don't _let _it define you. Think about that."

Hopkins' solemn advice struck a deep chord within Donna. Images of the life she had shared with Bill during their deep undercover assignment on the Logan case flooded her mind. Even though it had been a pretend life and a pretend relationship, there had been something about it that had been comforting and secure.

_Is that the life I want?_ Donna thought. _Is that life even possible for someone like me?_

A sudden, insistent rapping on the hotel room door disrupted her line of thinking. She was on instant alert. Hopkins, too, tensed at the sound.

It wasn't room service; of that, Donna was sure. She raised a hand in warning towards the judge as she stood up. Cautiously, she approached the door.

"Donna, open up! It's Wharton!"

Donna breathed a sigh of relief, but confusion creased her brow. It was James, but he wasn't supposed to be contacting her now; shouldn't have broken cover. This wasn't part of the plan.

In any case, she unlocked the door and let him inside.

"What's going on?" Donna asked as she closed the door. Judge Hopkins looked on expectantly.

James looked pale and distracted. When he finally found his voice, his words sent shock waves through Donna.

"Ignacio Perez, his confidential informant Vinny MacDonnell, and Gary Jankowski… They're all dead."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Again, I apologise for the delay. I'd been tossing around several ideas for this chapter, and was having difficulty settling on the right tone for it while maintaining what we know about Donna and Bill, canon-wise. I hope it holds together. From here, things will be moving into more familiar territory, and we can expect to see some SRU people in the near future. As it is, I hope you enjoy this current offering.**

**Just for the sake of clarity, this first section is dialogue-only spoken by Bill as he answers questions about his role in the SIU investigation about the deaths of Ignacio Perez, Vincent MacDonnell, and Gary Philip Jankowski.  
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><p><strong>Kill Bill<strong>

_Part VI_

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><p>"<em>Ignacio Perez and I were on surveillance."<em>

"_We heard someone enter the suite at the Viper."_

"_Gary Jankowski returned to the suite shortly thereafter."_

"_We heard a verbal argument and a physical struggle, and realised that it was Vincent MacDonnell who had entered before Jankowski. It was clear he was uninvited."_

"_At that point, Perez expressed concern for his C.I. knowing that there was a firearm present on the premises. He wanted to intervene."_

"_Officer Perez, still using his undercover alias, was granted entry by the Viper bouncers. He convinced them to let me enter as well."_

"_We quickly ascended the staircase to the second level."_

"_We could hear the struggle still going on from the hallway."_

"_Then the sounds of the struggle ended abruptly."_

"_We entered the suite."_

"_At that point, MacDonnell fatally shot Ignacio Perez in the chest."_

"_I returned fire, fatally wounding MacDonnell."_

"_Gary Philip Jankowski was already dead by this time."_

"_Jankowski's cause of death appeared to be due to a massive head injury."_

"_The toilet tank lid was the probable 'weapon' used to strike Jankowski. It was broken into two pieces and bloodstained." _

"_MacDonnell must have known about the drugs Jankowski was hiding in the toilet. He was possibly there to steal the stash."_

"_The heroin was recovered from the bathroom in the suite."_

"_I have nothing further to add except that I believe I acted within the bounds of good reason and that I should not be found criminally responsible for the deaths of Ignacio Perez and Vincent MacDonnell."_

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><p>Ignacio's death shook the entire team to the core. While the circumstances were pretty clear-cut, Donna's immediate fear was that Bill would hold himself personally responsible. With that self-imposed burden, she was terrified he would seek ways to self-medicate in an ill-advised attempt to cope with the guilt. If that happened, Bill would completely destroy his run at sobriety, and would quite possibly destroy his life and career in the process.<p>

Commander Foley called a halt to the investigation since division detectives and forensic specialists were crawling all over the Viper nightclub in the aftermath of the shootings. That was the official reason, anyway, but those closer to the story knew that it was the pall Ignacio's death cast over everything that had motivated Foley to temporarily shut things down. Besides, their most promising connection to Neil Cavell was also lying dead in the morgue, so Foley's decision was met without complaint or resistance.

They would need time to regroup and rebuild, and at the moment, everyone was too emotionally raw to forge ahead.

Bill's SIU hearing and investigation meant he wouldn't be on active duty until they reached a conclusion that ruled in his favour.

Donna went to his apartment the day following the fatal incident, hoping to provide moral support, but discovered Bill wasn't there. Her calls to his cell phone went unanswered, and by the fifth time, she stopped leaving concerned messages on his voice mail. Instead, she decided to be more proactive.

Her first stop was The Goose, but no one there had seen him. With increasing apprehension, Donna searched all his usual haunts, none of which yielded the desired result.

"Damn it, Bill…" she muttered to herself in frustration after an unsuccessful trek to The Lion, the last logical place on her list she could think to look for her partner. "Where _are_ you?"

Donna sat despondently in her truck in the bar's parking lot, trying to rationalize how things could have taken such a horrific turn. It seemed that every time they were making any progress on the Neil Cavell case, something occurred to derail their plans.

She felt her heart lurch painfully at the thought that they'd just lost a fellow police officer in the line of duty. It wasn't the first time it had happened during her career as a cop, and she regrettably knew it wouldn't be the last. She had yet to shed tears for her fallen comrade; that watershed moment would inevitably come at some point in the grieving process.

The truck's engine roared to life as Donna finally turned the key in the ignition. There was no point in moping around any longer and she drove home, feeling utterly drained.

To Donna's surprise, Bill was sitting on the steps outside her apartment building. Her emotions were mixed as she parked in her reserved stall and came out to him.

"Jesus, Bill! Where have you been?" she exclaimed, not bothering to hide her indignation as Bill stood up. "I've been trying to find you all day!"

He flinched as if he'd been physically struck and hung his head. "Nowhere," he answered quietly. "Here."

"You haven't been _here_ all day," Donna retorted in exasperation. "You haven't been answering your cell, either. I was worried, Bill."

At this, he seemed to perk up. "You were?"

"Of course I was worried… Come on; let's go inside," Donna prompted, giving his shoulder a gentle push towards the entrance. She didn't want to have this conversation with him outside where any passerby could hear.

Once they were in her apartment, Donna poured two glasses of water and Bill sat down silently at the dinette table in the kitchen. Now that she had time to process his sudden appearance at her residence, she began appraising him, and didn't like what she saw. He looked like he was coming down from something, and she angrily wondered what made him think she wouldn't notice; that she would be that stupid to overlook the signs. She didn't know how to gauge his frame of mind.

They didn't speak a word until Donna placed his glass of water before him and sat down across from him.

"So, where have you been, Bill?" she asked flatly, raising her eyebrows in a manner that said 'cut the crap'.

"Out," he managed feebly, after taking a sip of his water.

Donna sharply slammed down a hand on the tabletop with a bang. The ring on her little finger made contact as well, producing a surprisingly loud, echoing _ping_.Bill jumped at the sudden sounds, eyes open wide and mouth open in shock. Water from the glasses sloshed around the rims and splattered on the table's surface.

"For God's sake, Bill!" Donna seethed, feeling grudging satisfaction that she now had his full attention. "You're under an official SIU investigation. You recently came off a suspension. If you aren't able to keep your nose clean, they're going to nail you to the wall."

Her partner looked at her with a hangdog expression, and for a moment, she was unsure if she was taking the right tack with him.

"I'm… tired," he mumbled weakly, lamely trying to dodge her thinly-veiled accusations about his state of sobriety.

"I don't care," she bit back, not letting up. "What am I supposed to do if SIU start asking me questions about you? I can't lie to them, Bill. Whatever it is you've been using, it needs to stop _now_."

"You weren't… even there when… Ignacio - when it happened," Bill ground out, struggling to string his words together. He rubbed his face in his hands as he said: "They… don't have a reason to ask you… anything."

Donna had to concede he had a point, but that didn't mean she could ignore the facts that he was making some choices that were detrimental to his health and to his job.

"You're right. I wasn't there," she stated sourly. "And I know you're blaming yourself for what happened to Ignacio. But you can't torture yourself like that. Vincent MacDonnell killed him. He wanted Gary's stash and knew he'd been cornered when you and Ignacio went up there... He figured he could shoot his way out of the situation…"

She nearly froze at where her thoughts led her to next. "Bill… if it had been you who'd been shot…"

He looked up at her with sorrowful, clouded eyes. "If it had been _you_…"

"What are you talking about – 'if it had been me'?" Donna asked as she pointed to herself, confused by his seemingly illogical statement.

"We're partners…" Bill sighed, dropping his gaze as he worked through his next thought. "We're supposed to… be together on everything. What if… what if _you'd_ been there … in Ignacio's place last night? I just don't think… I'd be able to handle that… if something happened to you. Am I wrong to feel… _glad_ that it was him and not you?"

Donna closed her eyes, contemplating what Bill had just said. "No," she finally responded, feeling her heart soften at his distress. "It's not 'wrong' to feel that way. But, Bill, this is the second time in the past couple weeks that you've been in the line of fire. How do you think _I_ feel about that; to know that _you_ could have been hurt, or killed, and that I wasn't anywhere near you?"

Their words to each other hung heavily in the air, and neither felt capable of saying anything more.

At last, Donna broke the silence. She reached over and placed a hand on Bill's. "We'll get through this. You should take some time off, even after the SIU investigation blows over. Foley's put the case on hold for the time being, anyway. You need to get away from all this madness… before you lose yourself. You need to re-charge, you know?"

Bill nodded slowly, numbly.

She started moving her hand away when Bill convulsively grabbed onto it. "Don't… don't let go… Not yet."

"Bill…"

"Promise me you'll always be there," he begged. "I need to know that no matter what happens… with SIU and after… you'll be there, yeah?"

Donna wasn't sure she liked the utter desperation in his voice, but knew he was badly in need of re-assurance.

"I promise," she pledged.

Relief washed over Bill's face, and he let go of her hand. "Thanks… partner," he whispered.

"You're welcome," Donna said, feeling oddly like they'd just renewed some sort of private vow.

Bill took a long gulp of water, emptying the glass. "I've been thinking," he said after swallowing, "… and you're right. Maybe I should take some time for myself. I haven't had any real vacation in ages…"

Donna's smile was wry. "This job makes that one difficult, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Bill replied, reaching out and grasping her hand again. "You should, too. Take some time off, I mean."

"Time off?" Donna scoffed. "What would _I_ do with time off? Sit around the apartment and watch TV all day? I'd go stir crazy, and you know it."

A smirk crept up Bill's face. "Heh… yeah, you would. I remember you weren't the type to just 'sit around' back during the Logan case, even when we were just pretending to be living together for the sake of our cover."

Donna rolled her eyes and grinned. "No life of domesticity for me, even as the 'wife' of a crime lord's trusted lieutenant."

This started a long recollection of the tense moments when they'd walked a razor's edge of danger, as well as memories of the decidedly pleasant moments when they made solid progress infiltrating Logan's organization. Callum Logan may have been head of a powerful, ruthless crime family, but the man knew how to entertain. He often hosted lavish parties, living the high life with his wife, Ida, and those he considered his closest allies – allies that eventually and unwittingly included Bill and Donna in their undercover roles.

"I wish you could have been there to _see_ the look on Logan's face," Bill said smugly. "I know, I know: I've said it a thousand times, but that's one memory I'll keep forever. To first see the surprise, then the rage… to see him come to the realisation that he was being taken down by people he thought he hand-picked for their loyalty… to see him know that his own _pride_ had become his downfall. I'm telling you, Donna: it was sublime."

"You were brilliant on that whole case," Donna commended. "I learned so much from you in those two years."

"Well, you were a good 'pupil'," Bill said affectionately. "When I was choosing people for the Logan case, I knew I wanted you on board. You'd already done some good work on smaller stings and undercover ops; I knew you'd be a great fit for what was needed; for what _I_ needed."

Donna felt her face warming at this praise.

"The first time you came to my attention – this was years before the Logans – I nearly laughed out loud when I saw your file," Bill said.

"What was so hilarious about it?" asked Donna, curiosity piqued.

"You'd just joined Vice, and Commander McCrimmon - remember him? - told me to keep an eye on you, because you'd be going places," Bill continued. "I took one look at your picture and thought, 'is this girl for real'? Like, there's no way. It was totally sexist of me, but my thinking at the time was that you were just way too pretty to be a _cop_."

"Oh, is that so?" Donna dubiously quipped, arching her eyebrows.

Bill chuckled. "The guys in Vice… all of us thought so. I know there were probably times we made your life miserable in the beginning with all the stupid hazing and stuff…"

"Yeah, you did," she replied with a sigh and a tilt of her head.

"… But once the real _work_ started, we got to see that you were more than just a pretty face," Bill added hastily, and then grew serious: "We got to see your work ethic; how well you could think on your feet; how cool you could be under pressure; how fearless you were in the most insane situations. You're a damned good cop, Donna. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

"All right; I won't," she said.

"I have an idea," Bill said suddenly. "When I take my… break… or vacation, or whatever, why don't you come with me?"

"Come with you?" Donna repeated, taken aback by the suggestion.

"Yeah! Come with me. You said it yourself: it'll be good to get away from all this madness."

This hadn't been what Donna had been expecting and felt herself hedging on his request. She had a difficult time forming the words to politely decline him, knowing that it was only due to her idea to take time off that had prompted Bill to extend the unexpected invitation.

She felt her spirits sinking at the thought that of all the words in the world to describe Bill, '_needy_' had never been one she thought likely. But that's how he was now: needy, desperate and heading for a complete breakdown.

"I don't think that would be a good idea," Donna stated carefully. "The last thing we both need is for people to talk."

"Who cares what they say?" Bill rebutted. "To hell with 'em! So sick of what other people say and think; telling me how to live my life. No one has to know, anyway."

"I still say it's a bad idea," Donna re-affirmed. "We're partners and we're friends. Anything more is against the rules. Didn't we just finish saying that we don't know what we'd do if something happened to the other on the job? It's like we're already too close. It's not safe."

"Donna…" Bill murmured, an edge of discomfort creeping into his voice. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that it's not a good idea for us to be thinking we can take things further than friendship while things are the way they are," she answered.

"What do you mean by that?" he pressed. "What 'things' are you talking about?"

"What 'things'? What 'things' do you think I mean?" Donna asked heatedly, rising from her chair. She hated herself for berating him like this, but knew she was probably the only person in Bill's life who would be honest enough to tell him. "You're not sober. You've already placed yourself and the investigation in jeopardy because you were hungover, and Lord knows what else…"

There was a slight flash of surprise on Bill's face at her harsh tone.

"And now with SIU breathing down your neck…"

"I told you already they won't need to talk to you about what happened to Perez," Bill said defensively.

"That's not the point!" Donna exclaimed, unable to keep her emotions in check. "You're going to fall apart if you don't take care of yourself."

Bill narrowed his eyes. "Is that what you really think of me?" he fumed. "That I'm falling apart? That I'm a screw-up? What about all that talk just now about how 'brilliant' I was on the Logan case? Huh? Or was that all just bull?"

"Okay, that's enough," Donna snapped, but Bill wasn't finished.

"…And what about you always 'being there' for me?" he spat sarcastically, looking up at her with a scowl that was very out-of-character for him. His neck muscles were taut and ropey, his body rigid as he stood.

"I _am_ here for you," Donna said in protest. "I'll always have your back. Which is why I'm worried about you; why I even let you in here in the first place. Who else would you have gone to, and who else would be doing what I'm doing? Evan Braun? James _Wharton_?"

That seemed to get to him. In silence, Bill reflected on Donna's words as she glared at him, unwilling to back down from her position. The minutes ticked by, and the tension gradually dissipated from Bill's frame.

"You're right, Donn'," he said at last, breathing out a tired breath. "Out of all of them, I know you have my back. I'm sorry. Wharton… he's never gonna forgive me for what happened to 'Nacio. He never liked me in the first place."

At a loss for what to say, Donna felt her expression changing to one of sympathy; her heart twanging at the depth of his self-recrimination. Part of her was still furious at him for putting his health at risk, but another part wanted to comfort him.

"I should go," Bill muttered, and started to turn for the door.

"I'll, uh… I'll call you a cab," Donna said hurriedly. "I don't think you should be driving right now."

Bill huffed, but let her make the call, knowing it was useless to fight her on this one. As she dialed, she could see him staring at her, and she thought she interpreted a certain hopeful pleading in his eyes. It was a look that telegraphed _I'd like it better if _you_ drove me home, Donna._ But she would have none of it, as it would be a complication she didn't want. If she offered to take him home, Bill would take it as a prelude to something more, and she was tired of rebuffing him. As it was, she had to admit it was taking every ounce of self-control to say no to him.

"The cab will be here in a few minutes," she said as she hung up the phone.

"Okay," Bill replied. "Thanks."

"No problem."

"I guess I'll head out and wait for it."

"Sure," Donna said, feeling that the conversation had become stilted and uncomfortable.

"Well, good-bye then," Bill murmured, waving a hand, and moved for the door. "I'll see myself out."

"'Bye," she called after him. She supressed the urge to follow him down to the curb to wait for the taxi, knowing she had to hold fast to her resolve.

Bill opened the apartment door and walked out, closing it quietly behind him.

Donna expelled a lungful of air and sat down heavily in her chair after she was sure he was gone. She tried to analyse Bill's entire visit dispassionately, but found that she was too emotionally compromised to do an effective job of it.

One thing was clear to her, though: Bill didn't want to admit to himself or to her that he had a problem. She lamented that fact bitterly, because it meant that they could no longer have a completely honest and trusting partnership.

As the late afternoon slipped into evening and night, Donna sat like a statue at the dinette table, clutching her barely-touched glass of water. She seemed not to notice the passage of time as she tried to reach a decision about what her next move should be.

Could she remain Bill's partner on Vice and hold out on the hope that things would improve, or would she be dragged right down with him, as James Wharton had earlier predicted?

She thought, also, of the conversation she'd had the night before with Judge Jonathan Hopkins.

_What kind of life is this? _She asked herself, seriously wondering if for the rest of her career, her nights might be spent worrying about Bill, collecting him from some bar as she'd done in the past.

_What is it I really want_? _Do I get out now, or do I stick with Bill until one or both of us winds up dead like Ignacio?_

The thought chilled her to the core, but try as she might, she just could not ever imagine abandoning Bill.

_He's my best friend, and I love him_, she admitted, _but if he won't let me help him… What do I do?_


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: We're moving into familiar territory here, as this chapter will touch on what happened to bring Donna to the SRU. 'Between Heartbeats' is tangentially mentioned, and the recruiting exercises from 'Business As Usual' are expanded upon from Donna's POV.**

**All dialogue spoken by characters in _italics_ will obviously be ripped directly from 'Business As Usual', because those lines are essential to this story, and I couldn't have written them any better if I'd tried.**

**Hope you like.  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Kill Bill<strong>

**Part VII**

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><p>At the request of his family, Ignacio Perez was laid to rest at a private service; full honours were conferred by the police service. Never married, Ignacio's parents, his sister, and a handful of cousins were stoically in attendance to mourn him. A few dozen officers close to the fallen constable and other friends were also on hand to pay their respects. The obligatory eulogy was made by Commander Foley.<p>

Bill sat alone at the very back of the small chapel, away from his brother and sister cops. He sensed from many of them a certain hostility - from James Wharton in particular - over his part in Ignacio's untimely death.

Donna arrived just prior to the start of the service. She, too, sensed the hostility towards Bill; had heard the negative whispers from others in Vice following the deadly shootout at the Viper. She told herself that it was _not_ out of a sense of pity that she was choosing to sit beside him… but even as her shoulder brushed his as she sat, she felt him stiffen at her presence; felt him almost recoil from her. _He feels like he's been shunned_, she thought glumly, saddened at the prospect that he wasn't allowing even this small gesture from her to bring some sense of solidarity and comfort. Several times during the funeral, Donna desperately wanted to reach out a hand to enfold his, but Bill never once granted her an opening by his tacit refusal to lower his solid defensive shields.

Bill got up and left without a word before the end of the funeral, and Donna seriously considered following him. In the end, she realised his abrupt exit and silence were sending a bleak message that he wanted to be left alone, so she chose to respect his boundaries. Donna remained in the pew until the casket passed by with the pallbearers and family, followed by the rest of the mourners in the procession. As she stood and left the chapel, misty-eyed at the loss of another good cop, she knew part of her grief was fuelled by fear for where Bill might have gone, and what he might be doing.

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><p>ooo<p>

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><p>In the weeks following the funeral, three things took place that would forever change the course of Donna and Bill's lives.<p>

First, the civilian Special Investigations Unit found Bill to be innocent of any wrongdoing the night Ignacio Perez, Gary Philip Jankowski, and Vincent MacDonnell died. Donna had hoped that their ruling would relieve Bill of the guilt he'd been dragging around, and that it would ease some of the contempt he had been facing, especially from James Wharton.

Instead of returning to the job, which he was cleared to do, Bill followed through on his plan to take some time off, putting in for three weeks. He did not tell Donna where he was going, leaving it to Commander Foley to tell the team of his absence.

"_And let's hope he never comes back,"_ Wharton scornfully declared after Foley delivered the news the morning after SIU's results came through. It took more self-control than Donna thought she possessed not to resort to an angry and bitter come-back in Bill's defence, but the mood in the room was at odds with her own. With sinking spirits, she had to concede her fellow cops were actually relieved that Bill was not in their midst.

The second event occurred two days later, sending another round of shockwaves through the Vice squad: Evan Braun was found dead in his car in his garage. His landlord discovered his body slumped in the driver's seat with his service weapon in his lap and the car's engine running.

Unbeknownst to Bill's team, Braun had been the subject of an Internal Affairs probe. While Division Detectives and the medical examiner reported that Braun had indeed taken his own life, the possible reasons came to light when details of the IA probe were revealed. Suspected of leaking important information to the wrong parties, Braun had either killed himself out of a sense of guilt following Perez' death, or fear that Internal Affairs was going to file criminal charges against him.

The full extent of his corruption would probably never be known, but it was certain that Braun had been in contact with Ignacio Perez' informant, Vinnie MacDonnell, about the stash of heroin that Gary Philip Jankowski had hidden in the Viper nightclub. IA investigators concluded that Braun and MacDonnell schemed together to steal the stash and split the profits of its sale; that Braun had probably tipped off other informants about the presence of hidden drugs several times in the past. Only this time, his plans backfired in the worst possible way.

With Bill incommunicado, Commander Foley called private, individual meetings with Donna and with James Wharton. The team as they knew it was destroyed beyond repair, and Foley needed to know what the two constables wanted to do, moving forward with their careers.

Wharton voiced a desire to resign completely, but was convinced otherwise to take a stress leave to fully consider his options.

Knowing her heart would not be in it, Donna decided against joining a new team that was being assembled to once again pursue the ever-elusive Neil Cavell. Foley was ready to offer her the lead on that new team, but she also chose to take a vacation to sort things out, all the while knowing it would only make her restless for _some_ sort of action.

It was while she was on this break that the third life-altering event took place. Household chores and small repairs she'd been putting off occupied her time, but on one particular afternoon, her phone started ringing. Donna ignored the calls at first. She wasn't in the mood to talk with anyone, but the incessant ringing tried her patience and she eventually answered.

A close colleague she'd known from way back in her academy days was on the line, asking if she was watching television and had seen or heard the breaking news.

Donna hadn't, of course, and flipped on the TV in the bedroom. Sure enough, every national network and local channel was carrying the story of a deadly sniper attack in the vicinity of City Hall. A young constable barely out of the academy was already dead, a security guard wounded, and a member of the Strategic Response Unit was on the way to hospital, fighting for her life.

_It just isn't a good time to be a cop in this town right now, is it? _Donna thought with dejected horror. Household chores forgotten, she sat on the edge of her bed as details about the unfolding tragedy spilled out on the televised news.

She watched as reports revealed how members of the Strategic Response Unit eventually brought the incident to a decisive end. Early reports about the injured SRU constable hadn't been overly optimistic. Even though details were few, newscasters had thrown out disturbing phrases like 'massive blood loss' and 'armour-piercing bullet' and 'critical condition'.

Before long, the wounded SRU constable's name had been publicized. Donna had never met Julianna 'Jules' Callaghan, but prayed for her survival and wished her a speedy recovery. There had been too much death already.

_SRU_, Donna mused.

_That's where the action is_!

When she'd made First Constable after eight years of service as a beat cop, Donna had wanted to test her professional capabilities on that elite unit, but there hadn't been any openings at the time. Instead, the Vice unit had been openly recruiting, especially female officers.

_I've spent the better part of a decade with Vice_, Donna mused as she shut off the TV. _What have I got to show for it? _

Sure, there had been some major victories: the Logan case the crown jewel in a string of successful cases; there had been commendations and praise from her superiors, too… but there had also been loses. Ignacio's death and revelations of Evan Braun's betrayal were personal, but most painful had been watching Bill's life spinning out of control and being powerless to stop it.

_Hollow victories; all of them, _she thought sadly. In the weeks she'd been off, she hadn't once heard from Bill, and he'd been ignoring her calls every time she'd tried to make contact with him. James Wharton was inches away from quitting the force altogether, and Donna could well understand his grief and disaffection. It was an uncomfortable feeling knowing that by dint of working in Vice, a person was just that much more likely to be corrupted or fall into self-destructive habits. _Nobody's hands can remain clean in this business_, _because dealing with these criminals and drug dealers just becomes a routine part of life… _

_Evan… Bill… James… Ignacio… Lives that are either over or totally screwed up… and what about me? How much of myself will I lose if I stay? How much of myself have I already lost? Will I even recognize myself if I don't find a way to get out now?_

Such thoughts did nothing to lighten her mood, and for a split second, Donna wondered if Bill had even heard about Evan Braun; wondered if he'd been watching today's news. She shuddered involuntarily as the thought again returned to her how fortunate Bill had been during the Neil Cavell case; how he'd narrowly managed to avoid getting killed on two occasions. What frightened her most was the notion that one day she'd get a call telling her that Bill was dead, and that she was unable to prevent it from happening.

_I don't ever want to get a call like that, Bill_, Donna thought. _I don't ever want to fail you…_

The late summer evening's daylight hours were deceptive to the actual hour, and Donna was a little shocked to see that it was nearly nine o'clock when she happened to glance at the bedside table clock. She'd been glued to the TV for nearly five hours, and hadn't even thought of dinner. No hunger pangs had prompted her to think about food, but Donna nevertheless heated a can of chicken-noodle soup and prepared a BLT sandwich.

As appetizing as the simmering broth and sizzling bacon smelled, Donna found eating her meal brought no pleasure or relief from the stress of the recent events. The soup and sandwich were like ashes in her mouth, and she felt as if she were forcing herself to swallow every mouthful. It was all settling heavily like a rock in her gut, and she eventually tossed what was left of the sandwich in the trash. She rinsed out the used dishes, sealed the remainder of the soup in a Tupperware container and shoved it inside the fridge.

Her bed was beckoning her; every fibre was crying out in emotional and mental exhaustion. She shed her clothes and pulled on an old, extra-large Police Academy T-shirt that had long ago been relegated to sleepwear. Crawling under the comforter, her last thought before falling asleep was the hope that the next day would be a better one.

* * *

><p>ooo<p>

* * *

><p>Two days before her furlough was officially over, Commander Foley contacted Donna.<p>

"I wanted to give you the heads up," he said, "because as much as I'd hate to lose you, this is something you'd probably want to know about."

"What do you mean?" Donna asked, holding her phone to her ear as she tried to fold laundry on her lap.

"The Strategic Response Unit is taking applications as of tomorrow," Foley announced. "As you're probably aware, one of their teams is down a member."

"Yes, I know…" Donna commented. Everyone in the country probably knew about the deadly sniper attack that had taken place. Constable Jules Callaghan was thankfully out of the woods, but if SRU was looking to recruit someone to take her place, it could only mean that her recovery was going to be a protracted one, if she was going to return at all.

Donna felt a stirring in her soul; an excitement lit by the spark of this news that she could possibly attain her old dream of being a part of that specialized unit. She quickly brought her excitement in check when she remembered that the only reason she had this chance at all was because another cop had almost been killed.

Foley continued: "You can count on my support for a recommendation if you want out of Vice, Donna; no one's going to blame you for wanting to move on after everything that's happened…"

"I appreciate that," she said sincerely, grateful that he was willing to go to bat for her. But like a dark cloud looming on the horizon that threatened to overshadow an otherwise sunny day, a troubling fear manifested itself.

_What will Bill think if I leave Vice? Will he be as accepting as Foley?_ _Who will have his back if I'm not there anymore? _The prospect unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

_Okay, let's not get ahead of ourselves,_ Donna's mind cautioned, _you haven't even put in for SRU, much less been accepted yet. Just take it one step at a time, okay?_

"I won't put you on the spot right now, but they're capping the number of applicants at three hundred," Foley cautioned her, "and I know there's bound to be a lot of interest."

"Then I guess I'd better make up my mind pretty quickly, eh?" Donna quipped. "Okay. I'll let you know by this afternoon, Commander. And thanks… for everything."

Foley gently demurred with a 'don't mention it' reply and hung up.

* * *

><p>ooo<p>

* * *

><p>Winter's fury blasted the city with non-stop snow flurries and sub-zero temperatures. It was almost as if Mother Nature had decided autumn would be skipping Toronto altogether by the way things turned so suddenly from summer's heat to winter's chill.<p>

The parking lot at the headquarters of the Strategic Response Unit was nowhere near as full as it had been in the past couple of weeks. That alone was a sign of the reduced numbers of people hoping to be recruited into the unit. Donna had the heat cranked up to the highest setting during the drive and was now reluctant to head into the cold, brisk wind and blowing snow. The flags on the compound were being stiffly whipped up by the constant gusts, and Donna thought that if the snow turned to sleet, the flags might just freeze into a solid, horizontal position.

She drew in a deep breath, turned up the collar on her coat, and braced herself for the inevitable as she opened the door of the truck. Instantly, her forehead and cheeks felt the sting of the snow being driven against her exposed skin. Hurriedly, she slammed the door shut and quickened her steps to the SRU entrance, her boots leaving impressions in the layer of snow that had not yet been ploughed.

Donna was ready for another round of recruiting. She'd made it through preliminary rounds of written and oral aptitude tests: cursory cognitive and psychological evaluations designed to weed out a bulk of the three hundred that had initially applied for the sole opening.

When she had finally made the choice to put in for SRU, she didn't know how much of a chance she had, but knew she would at least be competitive. She already felt she held an edge with her shooting range scores; she'd been tops in her class back at the academy as it was, and she hadn't slacked since. Word was the current crop of SRU officers had marksmanship scores that were routinely thirty percent higher than other cops; Donna had every confidence that her scores were right up there with the best.

Now, she knew it was down to her and five others. Her stomach fluttered with excitement at the thought that she was that much closer to achieving her goal. Today would probably be the final recruitment phase, and Donna was aware that they were going to actually meet the members of Team One, sans the injured Callaghan, who was still recuperating in hospital.

_Team One. The absolute best-of-the-best_, Donna marvelled, as she checked in with Kira Marlowe, one of the SRU dispatchers. _These guys choose their own members… I'll do whatever it takes to prove to them that I can fit in and do this job_.

In the ladies' change room that bore a sign that cheekily read 'JULES', Donna shucked her street clothes and donned a police-issue dark navy blue sweatpants and T-shirt. They were going to be pushed to the limit today with a full round of close-quarters combat exercises, rappelling, mock hostage negotiations and firing range 'target practice'.

Donna went to the sinks and stared for a few moments at her reflection. She pulled her loose, shoulder-length hair into a pony-tail and gave herself a mental pep-talk.

_Confidence!_ _Four of the other five potential recruits might be all men, but you can do this. You've already got them beat with your shooting range skills. They might think they can beat you at the CQB simulations, but that means they'll underestimate you. Make 'em pay for that lack of foresight. Be personable, but not overly friendly with Team One; let the bonding come naturally. Remember that it can't be easy for them to choose a replacement for a downed team member. Don't worry about the hostage negotiations; just stay cool and be yourself. Get on out there and show 'em what you've got! _

With a satisfied nod, Donna exited the locker room to the exercise area for the day's testing.

First up would be the shooting range. Each recruit received earmuffs and protective eyewear before picking up an assault rifle. Donna soon discovered that a member of Team One would be more than just observing the recruits' shooting skills; he'd be testing their level of concentration while shouting out questions related to a sniper's task. Well, she'd be ready for that. She sensed his presence behind her as she fired off a round at the paper target, satisfied that nearly all of her shots had hit close to the center mass. The SRU constable was now describing to her a hypothetical scenario along with the weight of a projectile.

"_What's the drop at two hundred yards?_" the Team One member barked.

Her brain kicked into action as she recalled the physics involved and formulated a reply: "Drop at two-hundred yards: three-point-eight inches." She squeezed the trigger after answering to show she was still equally focused on shooting the target. The shell casing ejected and _pinged_ off the side of the booth.

"_Double the weight of the projectile, what's the drop?"_ he asked.

Donna nearly chuckled at the attempt to trip her up. "Three-point-eight-inches; the drop is constant," she answered confidently without cracking a smile. Again, she fired off a round and saw it rip through the target in the '9' ring, just outside the red 'X' in the middle. That was her final shot, and she lowered her weapon, very pleased with how she'd performed.

"_Donna Sabine_," the SRU guy addressed her, and she turned to face him. "_You lookin' for a change of scenery, or what_?"

Their eyes met for a split second and she read an intensity and an intelligence behind his blue eyes. He looked like the kind of man that one could trust implicitly to get the job done out in the field. Drilling the recruits seemed to come naturally to him, and Donna realised he must be the Team One team leader.

"_Change of wardrobe_," she answered his question honestly, "_been trying to get into the 'cool pants' a long time._"

The smile on his handsome face was small, but genuine, as he said: "_Nice to meet you, Donna_."

"_Nice to meet you, sir_," she replied in kind, giving herself a mental pat on the back. She knew she'd impressed him, but he was still playing it close to the chest. There was no way any member of this team was going to tip his hand this early when it came to which one of the recruits they favoured, if they favoured any at all. There was still more testing to come, and Donna intended to give it her all.

For the next phase, the six recruits paired off into sparring partners. A round workout mat had been placed in the middle of the weight room, and the members of Team One stood off to one side of the room to watch.

One recruit 'attacked' while another 'defended', the object being to take down and immobilize the threat as quickly as possible and without taking any 'damage'. The young man Donna squared off with had the role of attacker this time around, and he wasted no time coming after her with his 'weapon', intended to simulate a knife-fight.

He took a couple swipes at her; broad slashes that she easily avoided. After a brief pause, he came at her again, driving the 'blade' towards her in a stabbing motion. Donna nimbly side-stepped him, causing him to miss his mark. She immediately caught hold of him at the elbow and forearm and flipped him onto his back for an easy win. The whole exercise probably took less than ten seconds, and Donna hoped the swift take-down had earned her more points in the eyes of Team One.

After a short break, they hit the rappelling tower which all the recruits descended with ease and with a speed and agility that didn't make the picture any clearer for Team One. Donna knew her best shot at securing the coveted spot would be to ace the hostage negotiation. There was no telling what scenario they'd give her, but she knew the SRU mantra by heart: 'Connect, Respect, Protect'. Whatever happened after that was out of her hands.

When her turn came, the 'intel' given to her was scant. One man was holding another man hostage at gunpoint, threatening to do him harm for reasons unknown. With a young, good-looking, very blond and burly member of Team One as her second, Donna found that her subject had his hostage kneeling on the floor, gripped in a headlock and a 'handgun' pressed to his neck.

Calmly and non-confrontationally, she tried to get her subject to open up about the situation, carefully asking the reasons why he'd chosen to take such drastic actions.

**_Connect._**

The response was that he'd caught the victim spying on him, which the victim denied by saying, "_But I'm not spying on him-_"

"_Yes, he's taking digital pictures with a zoom lens_…" the subject interrupted, and went off into a rant about the perceived voyeuristic tendencies of the hostage. It seemed to him that the only way to make his victim stop taking pictures was to force him by gunpoint.

"_Personally, if I've got a gun to my neck, you know, a promise comes from your heart, right_?" Donna asked, trying to reason with the subject, praying her words were connecting with him without patronizing him or belittling him. She certainly hoped the subject didn't think she was ignoring his very real complaint about his alleged stalker.

"_Right_…" the subject said slowly, seemingly coming around to Donna's line of thinking.

**_Respect._**

"_So, you see where I'm going with this_," Donna continued, "_you've gotta put the gun down so he can think straight_…"

The subject slowly began to comply by lowering his 'weapon'.

**_Protect. _**

"_Right down_," Donna encouraged, feeling the subject's tension subsiding as he placed the prop on the floor. "_Nice_," she commended. She decided that while she might not have done everything in exactly the right order, she did manage to 'convince' the hostage taker not to 'kill' his victim.

That brought an end to the simulation, and Donna caught members of the team exchanging smiles, and she couldn't hold back one of her own. Deep inside, she knew she'd done a great job with everything today. She was riding a euphoric high at the thought that based on the reactions she had just witnessed, she just might be the recruit Team One would select to join their ranks.

Now, all that was left was a face-to-face chat with the team sergeant and head negotiator, Gregory Parker. She was last of the six to talk with him, and Donna wondered if there was any significance to that order, or if it was a random thing. Had the other potential recruits been told "Thank you for your time, but we're choosing to go with someone else"? Was this last chat just a formality, or was there still a chance that she could blow it at this late stage?

Her time in the 'hot seat' came soon enough, and Donna made a concerted effort to be relaxed about it; to try to be in the same page and just as cool and collected as Parker seemed to be.

She made herself comfortable in the chair, reclining slightly with her arms loosely on her lap, fingers interlaced. She tried to ignore the butterflies in her stomach and attempted to be amiable as she answered Parker's first question. It was a pretty standard opening question; one that she was expecting.

_Why did you choose to try out for SRU_?

Well, she had a pat answer ready: "_Probably the same as you. There's no place like this. There's no work like this._"

Parker wasn't quite buying it, and countered her response. "_With your skills, you could work any number of different places. You did well in Undercover."_

Donna brushed it off as if it were nothing. She gave a self-deprecating sigh and stated: "_Yeah, I've done my time behind enemy lines."_ But her senses were on alert. Parker wasn't going to hand her this position on a silver plate. He was testing her, and out of nervous habit, she started bouncing her left foot almost unconsciously.

"'_Enemy'?"_ Parker echoed, leaning forward.

"_Sorry,_" Donna said, realising her choice of words wasn't exactly appropriate, "_I don't mean-"_

"_Now_, yo_u know the whole 'war zone' imagery doesn't really fly around here,_" the sergeant warned.

"_Okay…_" Donna said, nodding her head in understanding and with a smile of contrition said, "_sorry… you know what I mean. I'm-"_

"_Do I?_" Greg asked, challenging her to qualify her comment.

Growing slightly flustered, Donna fell back to a defensive position. "_It's an expression, come on!_"

Parker leaned back in his seat. "_Oh, yeah. It's a pretty revealing 'expression'."_

Unsure of what to say, lest she 'talk' herself out of the job, Donna chose to lean back as Parker had and regroup, hoping to gather her thoughts for Parker's next verbal volley. In just a few words, he had already managed to unnerve her and strip away her veneer of confidence.

She was further unprepared for his next line:

"_You're 'mirroring' me,_" he observed.

"_Wha-?_" she mumbled, unsure of his meaning, but sensing it wasn't a good thing.

"_Your body language,_" Greg explained. "_You're showing me 'me', now._"

He saw the bewilderment on her face. "_Do you know you're doing that, or is that just reflex by now from all your time among 'the enemy'?_"

Donna scowled slightly at his use of the word 'enemy'; he was throwing her own words back in her face, making her pay for her earlier faux pas. The butterflies in her stomach were now replaced by a sickening sensation that warned this 'interview' was going south in a hurry, and that her chance at grabbing the spot on the team was slipping away from her. In frustration, she briefly rubbed her forehead, wondering if she'd be able to escape with her pride intact, or if Parker had more humiliations up his sleeve.

But to her surprise, he relented. He let out a sigh and began gently, gesturing towards her file on the table next to them: "_Constable Sabine… You got the 'bonding moves' down; belonging; being what someone wants to see, and that's all very, very useful. But it concerns me a little when your psych eval shows inconsistencies on self-reporting."_

An alarm went off in the back of Donna's mind as panic arose in the face of this 'concern' of Parker's. What 'inconsistencies' was he referring to? What was it, exactly, about her self-reporting that was raising a red flag with him? Would those perceived 'inconsistencies' disqualify her? Where had she lost her footing she'd been so sure of earlier?

Parker went on: "_It's like you can't keep your story straight about who you are. This job – connecting to people – I need to know you've got something to draw from-."_

Without warning, the room was suddenly filled with the sound of the hot call chimes. Kira Marlowe's voice came over the P.A., calling for Team One to deploy at once to respond to a gunman at large.

Donna made an anticipatory move to get up, but Parker stood and told her to hold. He listened to the rest of Kira's message and then finished his comment: "_Some_one_ to draw from_. _Pick this up later."_

"_Awesome,_" Donna uttered under her breath, not at all happy to be left hanging like that while the team charged into the fray.

Greg heard her utterance and agreed with a nod: "_Awesome! Yeah!"_

She watched him leave, and spun back in her chair, disappointed and disgusted with herself and her failure to impress the sergeant.

_And now I get to sit here and cool my heels, _Donna thought dejectedly, _where I can ponder how I just flushed my shot at the SRU down the proverbial toilet._


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: We're getting more into Donna's tenure with Team One, now. The latter part of this chapter deals with the events of 'The Fortress' episode. There will be more to come, obviously, because there's still lots more story to be told.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Kill Bill<strong>

**Part VIII**

* * *

><p>The short talk with Sergeant Parker left Donna disheartened and rattled. Hard as she tried, she couldn't stop second-guessing herself.<p>

_It's like he was seeing right through me,_ she fretted. Not that she was trying to be something she wasn't, but she had to admit that maybe she'd come into that interview a little too self-assured. Parker had known exactly what to say; confronted and disarmed her swagger as easily as she had 'disarmed' her 'attacker' during the CQB drill. His words had pierced her pride like a well-aimed dart popping a balloon. Without that protective shield of self-confidence, panic had taken its place, surging like a rising tide. She felt vulnerable and exposed; fearing now that every weakness was magnified in Parker's sight; that he would find her unsuitable for SRU.

Even now as Donna sat deflated and alone in the conference room, Parker well on his way with his team to respond to the hot call, she still felt a lingering sting from remnants of that panic.

_Was I too over-confident? _ Donna wondered, unsure if she could recover in time for 'Round Two'; Parker had unquestionably won 'Round One'.

_Was I not showing him enough of my authentic self? I wasn't trying too hard to be the kind of person I_ think_ he wants me to be, was I? And what about that whole 'enemy' thing?_

She honestly didn't know what was so wrong with identifying more with her colleagues – the _good guys_ –than with the scumbags they had to deal with on daily basis. But Parker had taken issue with her 'war zone' imagery; clearly there must be something she was missing; something she hadn't said that he still wanted to hear.

_Maybe I've been thinking about my job as being a 'war' on drugs and crime for too long_, Donna deliberated, but quickly shook her head to refute that line of thinking.

The job _was_ a battlefield and a war zone, and she was weary of it. But she was mostly weary of the blurred lines and of the duplicity involved with working in Vice; weary of the 'necessary evils' and being complicit in some level of criminal activity in order to prevent larger crimes. It was akin to washing one's hands with muddy water and expecting them to be spotless at the end of it. The more you pretended you were clean, the more you soiled everything you came into contact with.

But SRU was different, wasn't it? SRU teams tackled the high-risk calls and _protected_ the people who needed it most, didn't they? SRU team members didn't make deals with the devil, though they did rush in where angels feared to tread. SRU kept the peace without resorting to corrupt means or betrayals.

The thought of never again having to burrow herself into a life that wasn't hers was infinitely attractive and comforting. Donna knew she'd have to find some way to appeal to Parker when he got back; some way to convince him of how much she needed to be a part of his team. She _had_ to make this team, because the alternative was utterly repulsive and untenable.

_SRU or bust_, she thought grimly.

The unsettled feeling refused to leave her, and her gut roiled in nervous anticipation as she waited for the resolution of the call Team One had responded to. Eventually, Donna knew she had to work off the nervous energy that she had pent up inside. She rose and walked out to the dispatch desk where Kira Marlowe was calmly seated.

Donna realised that Kira's attention was focused on a TV screen mounted above, and she turned to have a look. One of the news networks was carrying the breaking story about the gun call, and Donna decided it would be a great opportunity to watch and learn. It looked like some kind of protest going on right in the media center of the Commerce Tower. A soaking wet older gent was pacing around restlessly by a cardboard sign that read "HOMELESS THANKS TO GRAYSON KEARNS". Donna knew there was more to the story since Team One was responding to an armed gunman threat; this particular man was clearly unarmed.

For nearly an hour, she stood transfixed as Team One got the volatile situation under control. She watched as a reporter, Celia Westfall, took comments from the CEO of Grayson Kearns Financial, the man reportedly targeted by the gunman.

_Joel Graves_, Donna thought with distaste, _Canada's answer to Dick Fulds. He shouldn't have been surprised that he was targeted by someone. After getting that big bonus while so many families lost their homes because of him? He had to have known his excesses would upset people who lost everything._

But Graves sounded contrite as he claimed to have been moved by the plight of the people who'd been affected by the recent foreclosures epidemic. The SRU constable who had facilitated the shooting gallery exercise earlier stood nearby, and seemed to be encouraging Graves to wrap it up and get out of the spotlight. The Grayson Kearns CEO closed his comments by apologizing to – and offering to help – someone named 'Stan', the latter obviously being the one who was staging the protest.

With that, Graves turned away from the media scrum and walked off with the SRU constable.

"Wow," Kira said in response to what they'd just seen.

"Yeah," Donna commented. "I can't believe he did that; on national TV, no less. Think he means it?"

Kira shrugged. "He sounded like he meant it."

Donna wasn't convinced. "A man will say and do anything if someone is holding a gun to his head threatening to kill him," she tsk-ed.

"That's true," the dispatcher said, "but no one had a gun to his head right then. He didn't have to say or do anything since the threat had passed. Ed must have talked down the gunman."

_Good for Ed, but I'd have been tempted to let him shoot Graves, _Donna mused with a sardonic scowl, and was suddenly blindsided by the realisation that she had just identified with the armed 'subject' and _not_ with the fat-cat hostage.

_That gunman wasn't a hardened criminal_, she reflected seriously; _he was probably just desperate for some kind of justice for what happened to him… Oh – that's what Parker was trying to get at! I've been looking at it the wrong way from the start. Things aren't always cut-and-dried when they go out to answer a call. Parker was right: I've become too accustomed to thinking this is an 'us-against-them' battle. _

It was a wake-up call and a reality check Donna acknowledged she needed if she was going to be a part of the Strategic Response Unit.

She returned to the conference room and leaned back in her chair once again, oddly affected by the insight she'd just gleaned. With her eyes closed, she let her mind run through a series of hypothetical answers to questions Sergeant Parker might toss her way when he returned.

The mental exercise consumed her to the point that she was almost caught off-guard when Parker approached. She heard his footsteps, and not wanting to be seen slouching, immediately sat bolt upright, then stood out of respect as he neared her.

"_Constable Sabine_," he started almost wearily, as he tossed his cap on the conference table, "_sit down._"

Donna complied. "_Good call today?"_ she asked innocently, not wanting to reveal just yet that she'd seen much of it on TV, or the epiphany that had come about while analysing what had happened.

"_Well," _Parker continued, "_no one died…_"

_And that's a _good_ thing, of course,_ Donna's mind supplied in response to Parker's dry assessment of the call.

The sergeant sat down, pulled out a black folder and flipped it open, showing her a grainy picture of three men. He pointed to each of the men in turn, explaining to her their reasons for their actions that day. One man had wanted to die; another had a family, and the last one was going to jail because of his desire to help his friends.

Donna nodded in understanding. "_I get it_," she stated, forestalling any further commentary from Parker.

"_Yeah?_" Parker sent her a dubious look, searching her eyes for some hint that he'd hit home; that she really comprehended not just the facts of the call in particular, but the complexity of the job in its entirety.

"_It's not black-and-white._" Donna replied.

Parker closed the folder and leaned back. He gave no indication that he was satisfied or dissatisfied with her answer; didn't press her to say anything more or clarify what she meant.

When he spoke, he said: "_Everyone is a constable here... there's no rising up in the ranks; you don't make more money because you risk your life every day, you make less._"

Well, if he was trying to deter her somehow or make the job seem less appealing, it wasn't working. "_I know,_" she said with a nod.

Parker wasn't finished. "_You're not gonna be out there in the field alone; you're gonna be in it with a team."_

Donna looked at him hopefully. Was this his preamble? Was he on his way to offering her the open spot on Team One?

"_I'm not gonna lie to you,"_ he went on, a hint of warning in his voice, "_if Jules makes it back, she's got a place here."_

She could feel a giddy excitement bubbling to the surface. "_Fair,_" she managed to say without sounding too over-eager.

"_But that doesn't mean I won't put my faith in you," _Parker assured her.

A small smile crept up on her lips. "_I'm not gonna let you down,_" Donna said, putting in her final petition.

He looked at her closely for a few more beats, as if sizing her up one last time. Finally, Parker pulled himself up from his seat, extended his hand towards Donna and simply said: "_Okay._"

"_Yeah? Okay?" _she said with a hopeful, questioning tone as she took his hand and stood to face him, wanting to be certain this was her official entry into the Strategic Response Unit.

"_Yeah. Let's keep the peace,_" Parker confirmed.

"_Okay, let's do that,_" Donna said with happy relief as they shook hands over her new assignment. A smile warmed her face and all the tension and self-doubt evaporated. "_Thank you,_" she said to her new sergeant.

"_You're welcome,_" he answered, mirroring her happy mood, and watched her leave the conference room.

_I did it_, Donna thought in elation, _I've made SRU!_ _The team voted for me, and Sergeant Parker approved. _She knew she was beaming, and a feeling of smug satisfaction took hold. She nearly laughed out loud as the often incorrectly quoted, parodied words of actress Sally Field ran through her mind: _You _like _me! You really like me!_

SRU would be a big change from Vice, but a welcome one. The 'cool pants' was one thing, and as Donna received her new uniform and laid claim to a locker in the ladies' room, she reminded herself it took more than just a new set of clothes to be a great SRU officer. But for the time being, she was going to relish the feeling of finally fulfilling her ambition of donning the distinctive grey outfit of the Strategic Response Unit.

* * *

><p>ooo<p>

* * *

><p>Donna was still riding the wave of the heady high and was in the mood to celebrate when she got back to her apartment. It had been such a long time since she could boast of such a personal success; she was almost at a loss as to how she should properly mark the occasion.<p>

_I should go out somewhere,_ she thought, _somewhere nice. When was the last time I was out at a fancy restaurant with great food, great wine and great company?_

She scoured her brain for an answer, and was disturbed to realise that the very last time she'd been in any upscale place, it had been when she was deep undercover on the Logan case. Callum Logan had been celebrating his wife Ida's birthday, and he'd pulled out all the stops, booking an exclusive room at an award-winning restaurant for the party. The wine had flowed, the service was par excellence, and the food had been outstanding.

_And that was the last big bash – a last dance for Logan's empire,_ Donna remembered, as a week later, police would raid his businesses and his residence, arresting Logan and numerous associates on the strength of all the evidence gathered during Vice's lengthy undercover operation.

Her jovial mood came to a crashing halt.

_Bill_.

How would he react when he heard about her lateral move from Vice to SRU? The Bill of old – the Bill who'd been her partner for almost three years and who was her best friend on the force – that man would have been cheering her on, all the way.

The Bill of today was a different story. Donna wished she could share this news with Bill. Part of her dearly wanted his approval while another part worried he'd be upset that she was leaving Vice. Hadn't she after all told him she'd always be there for him? This new assignment would effectively end their partnership.

_And I thought I wouldn't be able to imagine being a cop without being Bill's partner_… To her surprise, Donna found she wasn't feeling as depressed or grieved as she imagined she would. Ruefully, she realised Bill's own destructive actions had made it far easier to sever professional ties with him.

_He wasn't willing to admit he had a dangerous problem, and he wasn't willing to let me help him…_

Still, she figured she owed it to him to let him know what was going on.

_But I haven't even been able to reach him when I've tried_, Donna mused uncomfortably. It hurt on some level that he was ignoring her, and she wasn't sure how to interpret his lengthy silence. His 'three week' vacation was long past, and he'd still not returned to his position as head of the undercover squad. Commander Foley had not been forthcoming about Bill's whereabouts, either, and Donna didn't feel comfortable pressing her superior for more information.

It puzzled her that Foley didn't appear to be concerned that Bill was seemingly AWOL… something had to be going on behind the scenes that she was not privy to.

_And then again, I've been totally focused on making SRU_, Donna reasoned. Her day-to-day dealings with anything Vice-related was finished the day Foley had suspended the Cavell investigation. And now that she'd become a member of Team One, she was never going back.

_I can't leave it up to Scott Foley, or some other member of Vice, or the police newsletter to tell Bill that I've left for SRU. He needs to hear it directly from me; he deserves that, at least. _

Donna picked up her phone and dialled Bill's cell phone number. Predictably, it went to voice mail after a number of rings. She decided she'd leave a message after the 'beep'. Haltingly, she began: "Hi, Bill… it's Donna… If you've been picking up your messages, then you know I've been trying to reach you. Look, no one's heard from you ever since you took some leave, and there's some things we need to talk about. I mean, you probably know by now about what happened to Evan Braun… and Wharton's a mess; he'll probably quit… Foley wants to put together a new team, but… I won't be on it.

"Anyway… I hope you're all right. Call me, please. Like I said, there's some things we need to talk about, okay? Well, 'bye, then…"

She hung up the phone and frowned at it, not at all confident that Bill would return her call anytime soon. It was just so unlike him to be silent for this length of time, but decided that there had to be a good reason for it. The thought struck her that perhaps he was on some sort of solo undercover effort, but surely Bill would have told her even the most basic details if that were the case? Would Foley tell her if she asked?

_Ugh. Just another reason to get out,_ Donna thought disgustedly,_ all the secrecy and cloak-and-dagger garbage just gets to be too much after a while!_

Her stomach gave a short growl, reminding her she hadn't eaten anything since lunch more than seven hours earlier. She already knew there wasn't much of anything worth eating in her refrigerator, and she was no longer in the mood to go out.

Resignedly, she picked up her phone again and dialled the number to a neighbourhood pizza place, taking care to order a more health-conscious pie, loaded with veggies and grilled chicken slices. She was in bed by nine, knowing that she needed to begin to train her body's sleep patterns to adjust to the crazy schedule the SRU demanded. Saturday and Sunday were hers to get rested, but Monday would be the first with her new team. It would be a very early start that would begin with a mandatory work-out regimen, and she wanted to be refreshed and ready for whatever challenges that came her way.

* * *

><p>ooo<p>

* * *

><p>It almost felt odd coming to work at SRU headquarters when Monday finally rolled around, but Donna knew it was only because of the newness of the situation. It would feel normal soon enough. The city was still mired in a cold snap, and Donna hoped that meant the criminals would stay off the streets, too. As it was, she didn't relish the thought of having to be outside for an extended period of time.<p>

As she pulled on some comfortable work-out clothes, Donna's thoughts couldn't help but turn to Bill. He had not returned her call. Before she'd left home, she'd even checked her cell phone messages in case he'd called that number instead of her land line, but there had been nothing.

Donna looked at her reflection in the mirror as she pulled her hair back in a loose pony-tail. _I don't know what else to do about you, Bill, but I have to move on. _

She grabbed her water bottle and made her way out to the work-out equipment just in time to hear her new team members chatting about the stage production of the Lion King.

Wanting to be able to jump right into the conversation, she quipped: "_They still touring that thing?"_

All eyes turned to her, and the tech specialist, Mike 'Spike' Scarlatti enthusiastically called out: "_Hey! New girl!" – _while three others smiled and greeted her with a spontaneous round of applause.

Now the center of attention, she smiled, gave a wave and a small pirouette.

A noisy clank brought the applause to a stop as the young guy who'd been covering her during the negotiation drill stormed away from the lateral pull-down machine. He'd pointedly not joined in the applause.

"_Something I said?" _Donna asked, her smile turning to a grimace, wondering how she might have offended Sam. _Not exactly the kind of impression I wanted to make on my first day_, she thought ruefully.

"_Nah,"_ Ed Lane said easily, "_he's just shy. Don't worry about it."_

"_Okay,"_ Donna said, putting down her water bottle and reaching for a set of weights. "_Sorry… 'The Lion King'?_"

Spike continued with his narrative, and to the surprise of the team, revealed he'd seen Sergeant Parker at the show, accompanied by a woman and a little boy.

The guys pressed Ed for details, knowing he and the boss were close pals. At first, Ed claimed ignorance, but they finally coaxed some information out of him about Greg's date.

Donna listened with interest, smiling to herself that for all the complaining men did about women gossiping all the time, they were just as likely to talk about the personal goings-on of a colleague given the chance. Before long, though, her mind replayed the way the blond, ex-soldier had stalked out of the room upon her arrival. Ed had shrugged it off, but Donna perceived there was something deeper going on. Choosing her for the team had been a unanimous decision, right? Or was it majority vote? If so, had Sam been the dissenting voice? Was that why he'd reacted in the way he did while the others had welcomed her?

She didn't know what to believe, but hoped the situation resolved itself. Donna didn't like thinking that she might be the source of conflict or friction on the team, especially when she was so new. As she lay back to start some bench-pressing reps, she asked Lewis Young if he'd mind spotting her. The young man had just finished a round of chin-ups, and was grateful for the short break. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them with new determination and concentrated on her lifting, putting the earlier uncomfortable incident with Sam aside.

* * *

><p>ooo<p>

* * *

><p>Inside the ladies' locker-room that still read 'JULES', Donna peeled off her SRU uniform, hit the shower and tried to let horror of the day's events wash down the drain along with the soap suds and shampoo lather. Her first call with Team One had not been note-perfect, in spite of their best efforts. A hostage was dead, as was the hostage-taker, and Ed Lane was still being grilled by SIU. The Russian nanny was going to pull through, at least, but as the team disbursed after the de-briefing, it was clear to Donna that Sergeant Parker was still upset.<p>

_He didn't say it outright, but the Sarge obviously blames himself for the death of Dennis Milford_, Donna mused as she stepped from the shower stall and toweled dry. The whole team, in fact, was reserved and sullen in the aftermath of the tragedy.

_Thank God the kids are safe_, she thought, though Donna knew the chances were high they'd be psychologically scarred by what they'd experienced and witnessed. The boy had been right there when Ed had fatally shot the Russian hostage-taker, Misha. He'd watched the lifeless body drop to the floor before he'd been scooped up by Parker and shielded from seeing any more gore.

The image of the dead man floated in Donna's mind; lying inert on his back on the hardwood floor, his clear, blue eyes wide open but unseeing. Ed's aim had been true: four shots fired that found their mark. Blood from the wounds to Misha's head and torso was still pooling as Donna and Sam had rushed forward. She had kicked aside Misha's Desert Eagle, though that action was hardly necessary since there was no chance the man would ever be picking up the gun again.

She remembered Greg's soothing voice attempting to comfort the kid, holding him in a protective embrace as if to somehow physically assure him he was out of danger.

_I don't know if I could do that_, Donna pondered while pulling on her street clothes. _What can anyone say or do to help a child who's just been through something so horrible? When there's young kids involved, things are just so much worse. Kids should _never_ have to go through that kind of crap..._

Donna stood before the mirror and plugged in her hair dryer. The sound of the noisy styling appliance was a welcome distraction, as it helped drive away some of the more disturbing memories of cases she'd worked in the past that had unfortunately involved children. Those cases were among the most heart-breaking, and sometimes even made her question if the job she did either as a beat cop or as an undercover officer ever truly made a difference.

She left her now dry hair hang in loose tendrils about her shoulders as she made her way out of the locker room. Just outside, she saw that her new team members were gathered around Spike and the shift's dispatcher, Winnie. The pair were engaged in a playful arm-wrestling match, which was brought to a quick conclusion when Lou gave Winnie some added leverage to bring down Spike's arm.

The mood was considerably lighter here than it had been in the debriefing room, and Donna was pleased and relieved to see how readily the team was able to put a negative experience behind them. She gave Winnie a high-five for 'winning' the match against Spike; laughed along with the continued nonsense and silliness that went on with them, but did not notice Sam quietly slip away.

Driving home that evening, Donna tried to put everything into perspective. The day hadn't been perfect, of course, but aside from Sam Braddock's odd reaction to her, she felt warmly received by Team One. Yes, they'd lost one hostage during the call and another was in hospital, but the children had been saved. She didn't know if they could really chalk this one up as a 'victory' for the SRU, but decided things really could have been much worse had they not worked as a team to find solutions to the multiple problems they had encountered along the way.

Tomorrow would be another day, and as Donna prepared for another early night, she went to sleep with the hope their next job would go much more smoothly.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Not much to report here except that there are spoilers for 'Clean Hands'. All dialogue in "_italics"_ has been taken directly from the episode, because once again, I couldn't have done a better job if I tried.**

**In this chapter: Donna's elation over being a part of TEAM ONE comes crashing down to earth.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Kill Bill<strong>

**Part IX**

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><p>"<em>Put shaving cream in her locker! Shaving cream in her locker!"<em>

Donna swallowed a chuckle as she eavesdropped just outside the men's locker room. Lewis Young had just supplied one option for their hazing ritual they were gleefully planning in order to 'welcome' her to the team.

She heard Ed sarcastically declare it to be a great idea, followed up by asking if they were going to short-sheet her bed next, an old summer camp trick. He declared that as a veteran cop, Donna had already been hazed by the best, so they needed to come up with something really good.

Ed casually called on Sam, picking his brains to see what else they could do. Surely the ex-soldier had some brilliant ideas from his time in the military, but to Donna's surprise, heard him dismissively ask if the ritual was even necessary, seeing how she wasn't going to be there forever.

His words and his flat tone struck an odd chord in Donna. Sam seemed to be completely disinterested in the exercise, and she again wondered what could be bothering him. She was already getting along well with every other member; Wordy, in particular, had been warm and friendly. But something about her presence during down times seemed to deflate Sam. They'd barely spoken two words to each other, and she was beginning to wonder if he really was just shy, as Ed had suggested.

_Well, at least Wordy isn't shy_, Donna mused. He'd been really pleasant to her from the beginning, and even offered to give her some extra pointers for handling the combat shield for the upcoming escort duty if she wanted the help.

It was on that pretext that she decided to breach the invisible boundary line that separated neutral territory from her male teammates' space. The gents had just discussed Spike's plan to secretly replace all the Kevlar in her vest with cream cheese for an obstacle course run, and Donna heard Ed say it was a genius idea.

_Not bad,_ Donna thought of the notion of falling flat on her face and being forced to deal with the messy aftermath... _Not the most creative way I've ever been hazed, but it's up there, for sure._

Wordy was being asked by Ed to make sure they got photographic evidence of the impending folly, but it seemed he wasn't keen on this method of humiliating the new recruit. Wordy seemed to be taking a considered approach instead, telling them they ought to wait for her to settle in and make a good impression… _then_ bring the cream cheese with the boots prank.

She finally decided to put a stop to their mischievous scheming.

"_Hi, boys,_" she said cheerily, fully aware that her presence was making them feel instantly off-balance. Donna immediately caught the looks of surprise on Ed, Lou and Wordy's faces; heard Spike stifle a quick laugh. "_'Morning!_" she greeted them, further teasing their level of discomfort by allowing her eyes to linger on some of their bare chests. They clammed up instantly and tried to wipe the guilty school-boy looks from their faces.

She buttoned her grey uniform shirt over her vest as she cornered Wordy. Dressed only in jockey shorts, Wordy tried to hide his embarrassment as Donna stated she could really use the shield refresher they'd discussed earlier.

Wordy took it all in stride, becoming business-like and replying in a good-natured way that of course he could help her; would five minutes be okay?

She assured him that it was, and that she'd see him outside; he could take his time.

"_Gentlemen,"_ Donna said in parting, and heard their laughter as she closed the door behind her. That felt good; to know they were the kind of team that could give as good as they got; that they were able to take a joke and laugh at themselves.

Donna considered happily that it was such a contrast to the team she had just left behind. There hadn't been any amusements or jesting in such a long time with Vice that she'd almost forgotten what it felt like to keep things as light as possible on the job.

While waiting for Wordy to get fully dressed, Donna arranged her hair in a tidy French braid and gave herself another mental pat on the back for making it into the 'cool pants'.

There was another reason to be in a chipper mood this morning, as Donna remembered the news reports she had seen the previous night: crime boss, Callum Logan, had exhausted his last appeal in court. He was finally going to spend the rest of his living years behind bars.

_He's going to die there_, she thought with grim satisfaction; _he's going to rot in prison for the rest of his miserable life with the knowledge that he'll never again have the luxuries he bought with the blood of other people. He'll never again wreak havoc in this city; he'll never again use his twisted, psychopathic brain to plan ways to lie, cheat, steal, corrupt, torture and kill._

Her high spirits continued as Wordy ran through some manoeuvers with the shield. The weighty piece of protective equipment was cumbersome, but there was definitely a knack to using it properly depending on a given situation. Based on what little Donna knew about today's job –a high-security escort detail at the airport – they'd be needing their shields, and Donna wanted to be as ready and effective as possible.

She traded playful remarks with Wordy as they stored the shields after the brief training exercise; kidding around about what had transpired earlier in the locker room.

"_I was just tryin' to throw you guys off a little; spare myself the whipped-cream-in-the-boots trick for a day or two," _Donna said humorously, as they continued past the locker rooms on their way to the daily briefing.

"_Yeah, well, you know the drill!_" Wordy said of the obligatory hazing rituals any new recruit could expect to endure.

"_Are you kidding? Back in Vice, I _wrote_ the drill,_" Donna remarked with a haughty expression and mock superiority. She revealed to him the length of time she'd spent with the other unit and the years in the Undercover detail. "_Apparently, I make a very convincing 'meth freak', which I try not to take too personally," _Donna added in a self-effacing manner.

"_Really?" _Wordy expressed in mild surprise, and then admitted how much he doubted his personal ability to blend in with such a crowd. His words struck at the heart of Donna's personal reasons for walking away from Vice.

"_You know what the worst part is? You kind of get used to it,_" she sighed. "_I saw the opening here, and I thought, 'I wanna be a straight-up good guy', you know? Sounds pretty damn' nice to me."_

Wordy smiled knowingly. "_You know what? It is,_" he affirmed, as they reached the briefing room door. Donna reflected his smile, feeling a delightful sense of right-ness about being with SRU, and with her teammate's ringing endorsement of it.

It would take only minutes for that feeling to twist grotesquely into displeasure and disgust. Deep discomfiture set in as Donna listened to Greg brief the team on the day's escort duty: one Peter Wilkins, a man whose notoriety and_ alleged _crimes were still enough to raise the hairs on the back of her neck.

The _alleged_ serial killer had claimed seventeen women, and Donna could well recall the public's horror and fear during the years Wilkins – dubbed 'The Leslie Spit Killer' – was at large. The mayor at the time had tasked the police with making his capture their number one priority, and they'd almost succeeded when Wilkins bolted just before an arrest could be made and formal charges laid.

Donna couldn't conceal the scowl that marred her face as she gazed upon Wilkins' mug-shot. _I joined SRU for_ this?_ This is total crap! I put in for this unit because I wanted to nail bastards like this; not protect them._

Ed picked up where Greg left off; outlining their movements once they took custody of the prisoner at the airport. He advised the team that Wilkins' arrival from Germany under escort by the feds was being done in secrecy, so they would not have to deal with crowd control in this instance. With that, he instructed everyone to hit the trucks to get moving.

None of it sat well with Donna. When she voiced to Wordy her utter frustration with the assignment, he simply shrugged it off.

"_As for me, when I get confused, I think of my daughters. And whatever I have to do, I do," _Wordy stated in his easy-going, practical way.

She'd had no comeback for that; clearly Wordy wasn't the type to openly question orders. None of them seemed to be as disturbed by this escort job as she was. They were all taking off for their vehicles now, just as if it were any other routine call.

Donna marshalled her wits, telling herself she'd just have to shove down her repugnance for the task ahead someplace deep inside, no matter how loathsome a person Peter Wilkins might be. She knew she could ill-afford to cop out now; knew there was no time to raise any moral objection. This was the job, and as part of Team One, she was going to suck it up and do it… But that didn't mean she had to _like_ it, and once it was over, at least she could be satisfied that an _alleged_ murderer was off the streets.

To their collective consternation, what was supposed to be a routine prison transfer from the custody of one law enforcement group to another was anything _but _routine.

One dangerous complication after another arose to hinder Team One's plans for a safe transfer, and no one could have predicted the horrifying outcome, least of all Donna.

By the end of the 'routine' escort duty, she would be deeply questioning her decision to be a member of the SRU, and would be grasping desperately for a lifeline.

It took every ounce of control not to openly shed tears in front of her team as she joined them for the latter part of the debriefing, having been cleared by the SIU investigators and allowed to depart.

Donna sat almost in a daze as Greg concluded his review of the incident by saying the body of Delia Semple had been taken to the morgue for autopsy, and that Peter Wilkins had been placed in the custody of the mental hospital. He quietly asked her if she had anything to add.

Her silence was answer enough, and with a gentle, concerned voice, Ed asked how the SIU investigation had gone.

With bitter sarcasm, she replied: "_I shot a cop; they're really happy._"

_I shot a cop._

Speaking the words out loud brought the horror of the moment she pulled the trigger crashing back with all the force of a hurricane's storm surge. All the sensations and sounds were present to her once again, and it seemed she could almost smell the hot stench of gunpowder. Her eyes registered the smoky haze that billowed from the barrel of her MP5 – or were those tears interfering with her vision? Her ears were buzzing from the echo of the fatal shot she had taken. She couldn't even recall what Greg had said when he had placed a steady hand on her gun, making her lower it. But she remembered seeing his mouth moving, so words must have been spoken; she just didn't know what.

Donna recalled the blood that trailed from Delia's motionless body, clear evidence that the bullet she fired had been well-aimed, just as if it had been aimed at the red 'X' on a paper target.

Only the target hadn't been a piece of paper destined for a recycling bin; it had been a woman about the same age and in the same profession as Donna. She reflected that things had seemed to happen so fast, she'd simply reacted when Wilkins' life had been threatened. Her training had kicked in, and she'd shot the 'subject' to protect the 'hostage'.

So while she had gone with the SIU investigators, the rest of Team One had finished up the escort duty. As she rode in the backseat of the SIU vehicle on the way back to SRU headquarters, she'd begun to tremble uncontrollably, even though the heater was on.

Had she followed the rules? What possible explanation could she raise to defend herself and her actions? She'd observed the priority of life code, hadn't she? Or did Delia Semple's 'law enforcement agent' designation mean that _her_ life should have had a higher priority on the list?

_No_, Donna's mind objected, _that didn't make sense_!

_Hostages/civilians first, then law enforcement personnel, then the subject... That's order of life in a hostage situation, _Donna repeated to herself. _Peter Wilkins, even though he's confessed to his crimes, was the hostage. Delia had already shot him by the time Wordy and I arrived… Clearly that made Wilkins the hostage and Delia the subject, didn't it? _

But no matter how much she turned it over in her head; no matter how often she tried to convince herself that she had acted according to the rule book, Donna still could not escape the repressive feeling that she had been wrong and unjustified.

Greg, in his wisdom, tried his best to alleviate her anguish by telling her that even though she did right didn't mean she got to feel right.

Well, she felt rotten and disgusted with herself and with the whole terrible, backwards situation. Something Wordy had said earlier as they were serving as Wilkins' guards returned to her at that moment. Donna had been incensed that Wordy had taken a bullet while protecting the scumbag, and she wanted to know if his feelings about the _alleged_ killer had changed at all.

"_You think of your daughters now,_" she'd said sourly, "_what do you want to do to him?_"

She'd expected him to be with her in her outrage, especially since he was the one who'd been hurt. His answer, however, surprised, shamed and humbled her:

"_When I go home tonight and I hold my baby girl, it's got to be with clean hands."_

For as long as she lived, Donna would never forget that exchange. Constable Kevin Wordsworth was clearly a man of integrity who 'walked the talk'. He obviously believed in adhering to a strict moral code, and he was not going to sully his hands by taking out his frustrations on a prisoner, even one as irredeemable and psychotic as Peter Wilkins.

_Clean hands._ _That's what I want… but I can't even keep them clean with the SRU, _Donna thought with sorrow.

She turned a pathetic glance to Wordy, desperately seeking some kind of assurance since Greg's words failed to provide her with any comfort or solace.

"_Our hands are clean, yeah?_" she asked him mournfully, not really expecting an answer, because she knew none would ever suffice.

Softly, Ed called an end to the meeting. He stood up to depart, and was followed by Spike and Lewis. She cast one last look Wordy's way, and knowing she could dissolve into tears at any moment, retreated to the privacy of her locker room.

It was in the shower that she finally allowed the waterworks to gush forth. The deluge frightened her, because it was as if a levee had broken and there would be no stopping the rushing tide. She had never before cried with this much intensity; not even when her beloved father had passed away and she'd been unable to attend the funeral due to her involvement in a delicate undercover assignment.

After about twenty minutes of standing under the shower's stream, her heavy sobs subsided. Control and composure slowly returned, and she was able to step out of the stall, dry off, dress and drive home.

Sleep eluded Donna after she turned in for the night. The way Agent Delia Semple had fallen and lain dead on the cold, hard concrete of the airport underground parking level was burned into Donna's brain cells like a cattle brand. There was simply no escape from the dreadful image. It pursued her relentlessly, driving a stake of grief through her heart and causing an almost tangible pain to pulse through her body.

_I killed someone today._ _**I **__**killed someone! **__Because of my actions, someone is dead. A cop is dead._

_Dead, dead, dead! _

Her thoughts screamed in a never ending cycle of condemnation, giving her no peace. The mocking words beat a drum-like rhythm, and she imagined she might go mad if she couldn't find some way to 'degauss' the message that was playing in a perpetual loop. Donna wanted to ram her head against a wall just to silence those thoughts.

_Why did it have to be __**me**_? Donna quietly begged in vain, feeling the desperate need to cry, but knowing her tear ducts had already expelled all the moisture they could.

_Why, why, why, why? _

_Why did this have to happen? __**How**__ could this have happened? _

_Why did we have to be the ones to escort that piece of scum in the first place? _

_If Wordy hadn't been shot and if I hadn't asked to partner with him…_

_If Sam hadn't been injured…_

_If Walter Volcek wasn't bent on revenge…_

_If those protesters hadn't shown up…_

_Why did we trust Delia Semple so easily? _

_We should have known something was wrong._

_If only we'd figured out Delia was working with Walter sooner…_

Once again, her mind's mere mention of the dead woman's name sent Donna's fragile emotions spinning out of control.

_Oh, God… What am I going to do now?_

_What's going to happen to me? _

_SIU… they're not thrilled at what I did, but did they actually mean what they said? Am I not going to be put on leave, or be suspended, or something like that? Are they really convinced I had no other choice? _

_Damn it all, I _**did **_have another choice! I could have just let Delia __**shoot**__ that murdering son of a bitch! I'd rather have that death on my conscience than the one I have now. _

Her apartment suddenly felt empty. She'd never experienced it before now, but tonight there was a distinct cold, sterile and stifling atmosphere about it.

Donna had not once in her life been claustrophobic, but in a moment of panic, she felt as if her bedroom walls were closing in on her. There was a roaring in her ears, and she clamped her hands on both sides of her head and squeezed shut her eyes to try to dispel the irrational sensation of being pressed in by a solid, static structure.

She wanted to scream for an eternity; smash her fists through something; break something, anything at all, just to eradicate the crushing weight of self-loathing, fear and confusion.

If she had been a smoker, Donna figured she would have smoked her way through a dozen packs by now in a never-ending chain. She further mused that if drink had been her vice, she'd have already passed out, because she would surely have imbibed copious amounts of alcohol in the hours since she'd left the debriefing room at SRU headquarters.

A replay of the day's events swept through across her mind's eye for the hundredth time, and she desperately wanted to be able to re-write the ending.

She was there again, standing with her weapon raised and pointed at Delia; Wordy warning the vengeful woman that she had to drop her weapon or they'd be forced to shoot her. Peter Wilkins was moaning on the ground, writhing at Delia's feet. A spray of blood stained one of the support pillars, indicating that Wilkins had been recently shot.

Delia was defiant and kept her weapon poised over Wilkins, demanding he shut his eyes.

Donna felt a resurgence of the terror she'd experienced at that moment. It was a desperate situation; one that she sensed would not be resolved easily. Delia was clearly bent on executing the _alleged_ killer.

Even now, hours removed from the incident, Donna felt her hands grow cold and clammy; felt her pulse increase and her lungs seize, making it difficult to breathe comfortably.

_Why didn't you listen, Delia? _ Donna thought in misery. _It didn't have to end that way._

She didn't want to imagine what Delia's family was going through, but it was impossible to ignore the reality that the dead woman had parents who would once again be burying a daughter. Walter Volcek had revealed to the team that one of Peter Wilkins' victims had been Delia's sister.

_What can anyone say to that family? What if they decide to sue me over what happened? Will they ever be able to forgive me? How can I even begin to forgive myself?_

_I need help. I need to talk to someone. I won't be able to get any rest until I do._

After she'd shot Delia and prior to being whisked away by SIU, Ed had advised Donna that the next forty-eight hours would be crucial, and that her contacts on the team would be him and Sam.

He explained that they had both been through fatal incidents before; they knew the emotional fallout first-hand. Ed wanted to be certain she knew that reaching out to her colleagues wasn't a sign of weakness and that there was no shame in admitting she needed help if she really did.

Of all the people she would feel most comfortable speaking with on the team at that moment, Donna would have to admit that Wordy was at the top of the list. But he had never taken a Scorpio shot before; his hands were clean. Besides, he had a wife and three little girls. Even if she was confident he would be a listening ear, she was not going to disturb his sleep at two in the morning.

Due to the tension between them, the cause of which Donna was still trying to determine, she knew Sam Braddock would not be the right choice at this time, either.

_If only Bill were here_, she wished sadly, and then amended the thought. _Are you crazy? Bill's nowhere near the tower of strength you need right now. He hasn't even returned your calls. He's probably fallen off the wagon, and he could never understand what's happened. _

Donna felt her heart give a jolt of emotional pain. For all the times she'd tried to help and support her ex-partner/friend/mentor, it hurt deeply to know he was in no condition to do the same for her in her own hour of need.

That left Ed Lane as her remaining contact.

Like Wordy, Donna knew Ed was also married, and she was pretty sure he had a son. What would his wife think of a female officer calling to speak to her husband in the wee hours of the morning?

_Stop it_, Donna warned herself. _Ed wouldn't have told you to contact him if he didn't mean it. This is part of the job. Surely his wife knows about this stuff, right? _

It took nearly fifteen minutes to banish all the objections her brain irrationally raised. When she finally reached the conclusion that hashing out everything with her teammate was the only solution to her current crisis, Donna took a deep breath, picked up her phone, and dialled Ed's number.

After four rings, she was greeted by his sleepy "H'lo?"

"Ed… it's Donna," she began hesitantly. "I'm sorry to be calling at this insane hour, but… I'm going crazy here, and… and I really need to talk about what happened..."

* * *

><p><strong>TBC<strong>


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: We never saw how Donna dealt with the aftermath of 'Clean Hands'. But based on 'Grounded', we know that anytime a member of the team takes their first fatal shot, they're going to have the support of the team, with specific contacts put in place. This is what I imagine took place, because in my mind, she had to have received some help. She seemed to bounce back fairly well by the time 'Aisle 13' rolled around, and only showed a crack with 'The Perfect Family'.  
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**Then there's the professional bond she and Ed seemed to form during her tenure with Team One. This chapter seeks to build that implied professional relationship, because we know that Ed had a lot of respect for Donna, canon-wise.  
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**Okay, I'll shut up now and get out of the way so you may all read the latest chapter. Enjoy.  
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**And while we're all bummed that the final day of Flashpoint filming has taken place, at least we know the characters can live on long past the TV airings in the land of Fan Fiction.  
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* * *

><p><strong>Kill Bill<strong>

**Part X**

* * *

><p>"Ed, are you there?" Donna asked uncomfortably when she initially heard no further response from her team leader on the other end of the call.<p>

"I'm here," he murmured. "I just wanted to get out of the bedroom…"

"Sorry," Donna whispered, mentally kicking herself for rousing him at this ungodly hour, in spite of what he'd told her earlier about calling at any time. "I shouldn't have disturbed you and your wife."

"Don't apologize," Ed said, this time with a little more clarity. He was fully awake and alert now. "This is part of the deal when you're with SRU. If you hadn't called one of us first, either I would have called, or Sam would have called within 72 hours to check in with you."

"Okay," Donna said with a sigh of relief, detecting not a trace of reproachfulness from him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. So, what's going on with you right now?" Ed asked easily. "Don't censor yourself. Let it all out."

Donna took a deep breath and tried to gather her scattered thoughts and emotions into some semblance of order and coherence.

"I'm… not… I'm…" she stumbled. She took another steadying breath before continuing. Then said: "First of all, I won't lie to you... I'm _not_ okay. I can't stop thinking about what happened. I'm furious. I'm scared out of my mind, and I'm… I'm not sure I should be working this job…"

"Because you had to neutralize a subject," Ed stated dispassionately.

"Yes," Donna said, cringing at his clinical assessment of what happened at the airport.

"Donna," Ed uttered, his tone softening; letting her know he wasn't in any way downplaying the emotional toll of the day's events. "I get it. I know it's not easy. It will _never_ be easy. It never _should_ be easy. And you know what? Not everyone _can_ do this job. But I think you can. _We_ think you can. That's why we chose you."

"And I appreciate that," Donna interjected. "I honestly do. But Ed… it wasn't supposed to be this way. What happened today in that parking garage… did I - shoot too soon?"

For a moment, Ed didn't know how to respond. He thought back to the incident and how everything unfolded. He'd trained his own weapon on Delia Semple as Greg had attempted in vain to get her to put down her gun. His own finger had tensed on the trigger; ready for any sign that Delia was actually going to shoot her prisoner.

Still, he had to admit a certain level of shock when Donna had fired first.

"SIU cleared you, didn't they," Ed framed his words as more of a statement of fact than a question.

"Yes," Donna replied testily, "but you didn't answer my question: you're my team leader. In your opinion, did I shoot too soon?"

She heard Ed heave a heavy sigh. "It's not about opinions. If you hadn't shot Delia, chances are she would have executed Wilkins. Our job was to safely escort him."

"So why didn't _you_ shoot her?" Donna asked, an accusatory edge tainting her voice. "You were there. You saw what I saw. You're the one with more experience. And screw SIU; they're only concerned about legalities and all the dotted 'I's and crossed 'T's. Help me out here, Ed: what else should I have done? What else _could_ I have done?"

"Nothing," Ed answered quietly, but firmly. "Look, I hear that you're angry. But if there's one lesson you need to learn here, Donna, it's that you cannot second-guess yourself. After all the SIU hearings are done, after all the reports and transcripts have been filed, your decisions will always remain yours. I know it's going to sound cold, but right or wrong, you have to learn to live with those decisions.

"Did you shoot too soon? I can't answer that question, Donna. Only you can. But by shooting when you did, you probably saved Wilkins' life."

"And that's what's killing me," Donna blurted out. "That sick, son of a bitch lives, and Agent Semple dies. How is any of this remotely right? How is this justice?"

"Okay, can I tell you what wouldn't have been justice? If we'd just sat by idly while Semple shot Wilkins again, probably fatally. The German authorities who shipped him back to us trusted that we'd give Wilkins due process," Ed reasoned. "We're accountable to them and to our own citizens. Donna, it's not up to us to decide whether or not Wilkins deserves to die for what he's done, and it wasn't up to Delia, either. I think you know that."

"I know…" Donna said slowly. "But shooting Delia… You train for this job as much as possible so that when that moment comes, you're ready. And I _was_ ready, but I never thought I'd be looking through my sights at someone who was supposed to be playing for our side."

Her words to Greg during her final interview returned to her at that moment: _ 'I get it. It's not black and white_.'

_It's not black and white. Well, if it's not black and white, then what happened today is definitely the most disgusting, horrific shade of grey imaginable. _

"None of us envies you what happened, Donna," Ed continued sympathetically. "It's like Greg said: feeling right about the situation isn't guaranteed, and it might take a while before you're able to let go of the bad feelings associated with it. You wouldn't be _human_ if you were okay with it right away. SRU doesn't want killing machines, but we do want people who are able to integrate those feelings in a healthy way."

A sense of unrest crawled up Donna's spine as Greg's words to her just prior to accepting her to the team echoed in her brain:

'_But it concerns me a little when your psych eval shows inconsistencies on self-reporting.'_

_Maybe I'm really not psychologically cut out for this after all,_ she thought dismally. _I feel like I'm coming apart at the seams._

"I don't know if I can do that, Ed," Donna whispered, again on the verge of tears, devastated that she was admitting her failure. "I don't think I can get over this. It's too much."

"Look, it's only been a few hours," Ed calmly countered. "You're being way too hard on yourself. No one's expecting you to bounce right back tomorrow morning like nothing's happened. That would be a very unrealistic expectation. And as much as you may tell yourself later on that you're 'fine', there will be moments when the memories come back to haunt you. Again, all that matters is that you find a healthy outlet for those feelings."

"So… how do _you_ do it?" Donna asked, desperate now for some kind of relief; wanting to hear some magic words from Ed that would make her turmoil vanish; needing him to provide a road map back to a safe haven for her emotionally overwrought soul.

Before answering, Ed took a deep breath; his own personal storehouse of 'ghosts' dancing before his eyes in the dark of his living room. He felt an unwelcome stirring in the pit of his stomach as he recalled his own first fatal incident on a hot day in a busy downtown square.

Fast on the heels of that recollection was the day he came face-to-face with his own flimsy façade of 'macho' strength when his former mentor suffered a breakdown in a locked SRU debriefing room. That had been a defining moment for Ed, and he'd finally had to address his own inner demons, lest he one day disgracefully crash and burn the way Danny Rangford had.

"I have a group of guys I sit down with every so often," Ed finally responded. "They're mostly cops, ex-military guys, that sort of thing. We get stuff off our chests if we need to. Call it a support group, or whatever. The point is, it's a safe place to talk about the job if I need to, and I know they're gonna have my back. Let me tell you about the first time I had to take a 'Scorpio' shot…"

Donna listened as Ed recounted the circumstances that led to the fatal incident, instantly empathizing with what happened to him during, as well as the protracted aftermath. While he sounded as if he'd truly recovered from the trauma of it all, she heard what he was saying between the lines: taking another human life, no matter how or why, will always leave a lasting impression.

"So you've talked to other guys about this, then?" Donna asked tentatively. "That's how you've dealt with it? That's how you cope with this job?"

"Yeah," Ed answered. "And it's like they tell us when we get into this job: try to find the right balance. You can't eat-sleep-drink this job; you'll burn out, or worse: you'll go crazy. So even though I love the job we get to do, I have other things that keep me going; I have a family that needs me."

"Your wife doesn't mind that you're away from home for half the day, and that you work crazy overtime shifts on top of that? Never mind the late-night calls from team members who are about to crack?" Donna asked, smiling slightly in spite of herself.

"Sophie gets it," Ed answered, sending a glance down the hallway to the closed bedroom door. "She's been great. I mean, she's not thrilled when the team has to work later than usual, or that I have to miss out on some family functions now and again, but she knows what we're doing is important."

"Wow," Donna marvelled. "You're fortunate that way. I've been a cop for a long time, and I've known so many of my colleagues through the years whose marriages couldn't stand the strain, it's pathetic. They just couldn't find a way to make it work."

"Yeah, Sophie's special," Ed said warmly. "And I've got a great kid for a son, so all-in-all, I'm a pretty lucky guy. They really keep me grounded."

Donna let out a breath, almost envious of her team mate's good fortune. Her thoughts turned to Bill, and then to the words spoken to her so many months ago by the widowed Judge Jonathan Hopkins:

'_Being alone is the pits.'_

"What about you? You got anybody?" Ed was asking.

"Um, no… this job kinda makes that hard, you know?" Donna admitted. "Especially with Vice. Sometimes you find yourself deep undercover, which sort of ruins any plans you might have had for fostering a long-term relationship with someone, so… no. I'm not seeing anyone."

"Hmm… Well, I can't tell you what to do with that end of things," Ed commented, "but with this life we have, it helps to have someone else to help you through the rough times. I don't think I could do it alone."

For a moment, Donna was struck dumb. Ed's words to her were such a contrast to what Bill had always contended. Whereas Bill had decided going it alone was the only fair thing to do so as to avoid messing up another person's life, Ed was asserting he couldn't imagine _not_ having another in his life to make it through.

"Still there?" Ed prodded.

"Yeah, I'm here," Donna said lightly, still contemplating Ed's words. "I'm just… a little blown away by what you just said."

Ed chuckled mildly. "I didn't think I'd said anything too earth-shattering."

"You did," she asserted. "I guess I never thought of the relationship side of things in that way before. I never considered that it might be a good thing for coping with the job."

"It's an amazing thing," Ed enthused. "When you find the right person, it's the best thing in the world. I couldn't imagine life without Sophie, and our lives were that much more complete when Clark came along."

"Ed Lane: Tough SRU Team Leader and Happily Married Family Man," Donna declared. "So that's your secret to finding balance, eh?"

"Well, it's definitely a big part of it," Ed went on. "You've gotta find time for the things you like to do, too. You know: hobbies and stuff. This is all totally common sense, Donna."

She wanted to give herself a slap on the back of the head. Of course it was all common sense, but hobbies? When was the last time she'd actually indulged one of her own personal interests? If she had to guess, it was probably back when she was a beat cop, so maybe a good eight years in the past. Her assignments with Vice certainly hadn't left much room for 'extra-curricular' activities, just as surely as it hadn't left much room for cultivating an active social life.

"All right, Ed, so what do _you_ do for a hobby?" Donna asked, a slight challenge in her voice; curiosity piqued.

Ed stifled a yawn. "Landscaping. Fishing. Hockey. I even play the guitar on occasion."

"Landscaping," Donna repeated dubiously. "Really?"

She tried to picture him kneeling in a backyard garden, surrounded by the tools of the trade; grass clippings and soil, and found she couldn't quite make the image stick. Her team leader struck her as more of a gun-range sort of guy for relieving stress.

"Really," Ed confirmed. "You should come by sometime and see the place. When the snow's gone, of course. That way you can admire my handiwork. We've got a hammock back there, a patio I built myself, some solid brickwork… it's just a nice place I can go relax with my wife after a long shift. You know, glass of wine, lit candles, snuggling… Sophie digs that kinda stuff."

"Well, that certainly sounds lovely," Donna remarked, with a growing awareness that she was feeling a bit more relaxed than she had been at the start of their conversation.

"Look, I get that it was probably really difficult to have a life of your own when you were working undercover with Drug Squad and Vice," Ed stated, "but that's over. You're with SRU, now. Take back your life, Donna. Do stuff you want do. Whatever it is that floats your boat."

"Dancing," she said suddenly. "I've always enjoyed dancing."

"Well, good," Ed said, relieved to hear a small spark of interest from her. "Go dancing. In fact, do it as soon as possible."

She felt a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Yeah, I think I will."

"It'll probably be a great way to relieve stress," Ed added.

"That's probably true, too," Donna agreed. "Thank you, Ed."

"You're welcome. And Donna, thank you – for reaching out. You took a big step doing that, and I'm glad you trusted me enough as your new team mate to lay it all out like that. The quicker you learn that you're not alone in this, the better it'll be for you."

"Okay," she said, feeling an incremental diminishing of her stress and anguish.

"Donna, I'm still going to check in with you later, just to follow up," Ed added. "It's protocol after what happened – like I told you – but I think you've already got yourself over the biggest hurdle."

"Right… I'm still not exactly a happy camper right now," she said, admitting her lingering misgivings, "but this helped. Enormously. Good night, Ed, and thanks again."

"Anytime, Donna," he said. "Get some rest. You deserve it."

"'Bye, Ed," she murmured, and ended the call.

Yes, talking with her team leader had indeed helped her put things into perspective; had given her some concrete advice to help steady her course and reduce the anxiety. She made the decision she _would_ look into finding some way to entertain a hobby, and thought she might even take up dance lessons. The next day would be hers to do with as she pleased, a welcome break after such a traumatic call.

_I guess I do feel better… Not so scared or quite so uncertain about sticking with SRU, but… I guess what I'm really feeling the most right now is sadness…_

_God, I didn't _want_ to kill Delia, but she made it impossible for me to react any other way. _

_And like Ed said, I guess I need to learn to be okay with that action. I guess it was good to hear him say he doesn't expect me to 'get over it' right away; to know that he's had his own issues in the past, and that he's found ways to deal with everything… _

_He's just so fortunate that he has a wife who understands… If I had a husband… would he be as supportive as Sophie Lane? Would he 'get it'? Would he understand what it is I'm going through right now, or would he turn away? _

She decided that if she'd had a husband who couldn't support her in any kind of crisis, then he probably wouldn't have been the right person for her, anyway. Ed had obviously chosen the right woman in Sophie, and Donna wondered how that match had come about.

Once again, she thought of Bill Kedrick.

_You were wrong, Bill. By not settling down, you've closed yourself to the possibility of having someone in your corner, no matter what. You've shoved everyone away, and you've been ruining everything that's good in your life. _

_Well, that's_ not_ going to be me,_ Donna vowed. _I'm not going to let this job dictate my life any longer._

It was already past three AM according to the clock on her bedside table, and Donna still wasn't sure she would be able to sleep. She was fearful what she would see when she closed her eyes to sleep, all too aware that the day's horrors would be waiting to torment her even as she craved respite from them.

Nevertheless, she forced herself to lie down, whispering a fervent prayer that she be allowed a nightmare-free slumber. The dim, grey outlines of her bedroom grew hazier as her eyelids started to close out of sheer physical and emotional exhaustion.

Though her sleep was fitful, it was thankfully dreamless. When she awoke, there were still remnants of her anger and grief, but the darkness that had been threatening to consume her the night before had vanished completely.

The winter sun was pale, but its brave efforts to break through overcast skies brought a brief smile to Donna's face.

_I am going to make it,_ she thought. _I'm going to get through this crisis and be the best damn' SRU cop I can possibly be. _

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><p><strong>TBC<strong>_  
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	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Delays. yada-yada. Sorry and so forth. This chapter was written with the assistance of the dancetv website. **

**In this chapter, Donna meets some guy named 'Hank'. Hope you enjoy.  
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**Episode-based stuff will be in the next chapter, so I guess that'll mean 'action' after the sort of 'fluffy' nature of this chapter.  
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* * *

><p><strong>Kill Bill<strong>

**Chapter XI**

* * *

><p>The parking lot of the aging community centre was surprisingly full on this blustery winter night by the time Donna arrived. She pulled her truck into an empty spot which was regrettably quite a distance from the entrance. She didn't relish the thought of having to brave the cold, outdoor temperatures, but told herself she'd be inside soon enough, where warmth beckoned. Furthermore, she reminded herself she'd be plenty warm once she got moving during whatever dance instructions she'd be subjected to.<p>

Earlier in the day, Donna had done some on-line searches for anything remotely dance-related in her area. After tossing aside listings for various 'jazzercise' classes and ballet studio-type lessons, she discovered a weekly, evening dance class with the unremarkable and somewhat pretentious title of 'Ballroom Blitz'.

The name might have lacked creativity, but the particulars appealed to Donna on a few levels. Firstly, it catered to the public on a drop-in basis. Secondly, there was no sign-up fee; all that was being asked of the participants was a mere three-dollar donation per lesson. Evenings also meant that when Team One was on the early shift, she could potentially zip over to the centre directly from SRU headquarters in plenty of time.

_Yeah, that's if these lessons are any good,_ Donna thought as she scurried through the parking lot to the front doors. _For three bucks, I guess I shouldn't be expecting anything too grand._

Donna felt the frozen air biting her cheeks, and wondered when the cold snap would break. It was already shaping up to be one of the coldest winters in recent memory, with temperatures remaining well below freezing and little fluctuation from day to day. Once inside, though, Donna breathed a sigh of relief that the building's furnace was functioning properly and quickly shed her jacket and gloves.

Seated at a table in the foyer was a plumpish, middle-aged woman with frizzy blonde hair and thick eyeglasses. She wore a button pinned to her colourful sweater that simply read 'Community Centre Volunteer'. Below the pin was a stick-on label that read: 'HELLO, MY NAME IS MARY'. Her smile was wide and toothy when she spotted Donna.

"Are you here for the dance lessons or the bridge club?" she asked in a Newfoundland accent that was as thick as her spectacles.

"Uh, dance lessons," Donna replied a few beats later after mentally processing the 'Newfie' brogue. She handed over a five dollar bill.

"Oh, good!" the other woman replied happily, taking the proffered money and giving Donna her change from a metal lockbox. "They'll be so delighted to have another gal in there tonight. It's mostly men who show up for this thing, you know. The gents always seem to think it'll be a great way to meet the ladies, but they usually end up outnumbering them!"

"Really," Donna said dubiously.

Mary winked. "All the better for you, m'love… You'll have your pick of the litter."

"Uh-huh," Donna muttered, wondering for the first time if maybe she'd made a mistake coming here tonight.

_I'm just here for the dance lessons. If all the guys who've shown up for this thing are only interested in picking up women, then this will be my first and last lesson. _

"Here, take this," Mary said, peeling off another 'HELLO, MY NAME IS _' sticker from the sheet in front of her.

For a moment, Donna mischievously considered making up a false name, but dutifully printed 'DONNA' on the line with the marker Mary handed to her. She affixed the sticker to the front of her turtleneck sweater.

"Enjoy the lessons, now, m'love," Mary said with a cheeriness that made Donna think she must really enjoy her time volunteering there.

A handwritten sign taped to the wall with a hand-drawn arrow directed Donna down a hall to the community centre's gymnasium, where the dance lessons would be taking place.

Already, Donna could hear music wafting from the gym; as she neared, she identified Frank Sinatra's distinctive voice crooning 'Come Dance with Me'.

'_Hey, there, cutes, put on your basie boots and come dance with me. Come dance with me, what an evening for some Terpsichore!'_

_What an evening for some Terpsichore, indeed,_ Donna thought to herself as she pushed open one of the doors and entered the high-ceilinged, spacious room. Movement at center court immediately caught Donna's attention. Two people – a man and a woman who looked to be in their late fifties – were dancing with unabashed delight on the polished, hardwood floor. She didn't recognize the dance steps, but based on the music selection, figured they had to be some type of swing-dance moves.

Spaced out against the four walls were chairs occupied by about three dozen people, all presumably there for the evening's lesson. With a wry smile, Donna noted that the volunteer outside was right: majority of those seated were men, most of them in their early to mid-twenties. As she chose a seat near the door, which was as far away as possible from the supposed singletons, she reflected that when she first made the decision to come here tonight, she expected a bulk of the attendees to be couples. Donna did pick out three obvious pairs as she studied the people more closely, and by her count, there were twenty men going it solo, which made her one of ten single women.

She shoved her gloves into one of her jacket pockets and hung the garment behind her on the chair as she sat down.

The Sinatra song, being blasted from a portable sound system parked in one corner of the gym, was reaching the final few bars, and the dancers wound up their routine with a flourish of fancy footwork, and concluded with a dramatic bow. A smattering of applause followed, and Donna joined in, having been genuinely impressed by the mini demonstration.

"That," announced the female half of the dancing duo, "was the Lindy Hop. And no, we won't be teaching you that one tonight; that was just a preview of coming attractions."

"Folks, we're just gonna 'take five' right now," the man chimed in, "but when we get back, we're going to begin this evening's lesson, which will focus on the Waltz. See you in a bit."

They took their leave, gliding off the floor towards the doors Donna had just come through, both of them giving her bright smiles as they exited.

The Waltz didn't sound as exciting as the Lindy Hop, and Donna considered taking off right then. She already knew the basics to the Waltz; her father had taught her years before when she was in grade 13.

'_You need to know at least the basic 'box step' if you're going to be dancing at your graduation dance_,' he'd advised. She'd humoured her father at the time, knowing full well that her date for the evening wouldn't be remotely interested in such 'square' dance moves.

Apart from other hobbies, Donna figured the last time she'd been on a dancefloor just for the sheer enjoyment of dancing was back in her rookie days when she could still afford to party socially and not feel hyper-vigilant about everything going on around her.

That had changed soon enough. Once she had some time as a cop under her belt, she couldn't help but be on guard when she went out with someone in public. She'd been on the job nearly four years when she started to become seriously interested in a grad student named Paul. They'd been dating for a few months, but to her disappointment, Donna eventually realised he didn't share the same enthusiasm she had about the status of their relationship. Their phone conversations started to degrade into increasingly terse and stultifying 'talks', and he kept making excuses as to why he couldn't make time to go out with her. It was becoming a familiar pattern; one Donna had run into several times when dating a few other men on a casual basis before Paul. The interest would be there at the start, but would soon wane, transforming into a remote and almost cold behaviour on the part of the guy.

Donna tried to get to the bottom of the problem with the Paul, and during what would be their final conversation, he blurted out the reason for his reticence and aloof manner:

'_It's like you can't ever relax, Donna. I don't know if it's a cop thing or what, but it just makes me really uncomfortable when we're out that your mind seems like it's a million miles away. You're always mentally assessing every person who walks by to see if he's a potential threat… Look, you're a really nice girl, Donna. But… when I'm out, I just want to be with someone who knows how to chill out, you know? I'm sorry, but I don't think I can keep this going. I have to call it quits.'_

As painful as it had been to hear, Donna had to concede Paul was right. She just wasn't sure what to do about it. Being a cop had changed her, and she started wondering if it would help matters if she tried dating other members of the force. Surely, other cops understood what it was like off-duty; that you were never really 'off-duty'. Yes, you clocked out at the end of shift and went home or to a bar to unwind, but flipping off the 'LEO switch' wasn't that simple.

There had been a couple guys back in Donna's academy days that had made a play for her at the time, but they just hadn't been her type. They had been of the arrogant, 'alpha-male' sort, determined to out-macho every one of the other recruits. Neither had lasted through the 20-week Cadet-in-training program, which was fine with Donna, because she honestly thought they would have made pitiful officers of the law.

Her new teammates, Ed Lane and Kevin Wordsworth, came to mind. As far as she knew, their spouses weren't in law enforcement. She wondered again how Ed had managed to do it; how Wordy had managed, when so many others she knew failed miserably at their marriages. And SRU was perhaps one of the most stressful units to work on, so clearly the Lanes and Wordsworths were doing something right.

She didn't know about the other members of the team; she was pretty sure they were all still single…

The doors to the gym opened, drawing Donna's attention. Two men entered, dressed in business-casual attire.

"Oh, good," the first one said with an air of relief. "We're not late."

"Told ya we'd make it, oh ye of little faith," the second one chided, with a playful slap on the other's back.

Donna looked at them with mild interest. The first was Caucasian with neatly-combed brown hair, and the other was lean with thick dark hair, and looked to be of East Indian extraction; both in their mid-thirties. _Two more guys_, she thought ruefully, shaking her head. _As if the ratio wasn't already off-balance. _

She pegged them as office drone, bachelor types; completely harmless with nothing terribly flashy about them – probably there in hopes of meeting women like the rest of the single men there.

The second man caught her glance as he passed by, and murmured a friendly hello, accompanied by a shy smile. Donna automatically smiled back and replied in kind. Then he picked up his pace to catch up to his friend, who was making a beeline for a trio of young women seated against the far wall.

_Yup_, Donna mused, _definitely here to pick up women. I just hope none of these guys decides to get too 'grabby' during these lessons._

The doors opened again, and the dance instructors strode inside, taking center court once more. They were both now wearing headsets, which were evidently linked to the gymnasium sound system.

"Hey, good evening, everyone!" the male half of the couple said, his voice indeed carrying over the sound system speakers. "Welcome to 'Ballroom Blitz'. My name's Lance, and this is my wife, Doris. Tonight, we're going to start you off with a timeless classic: the Waltz. You're probably all familiar with it, but probably never really learned the steps very well. That'll change tonight."

Doris said: "We can see that most of you didn't bring a partner to dance with tonight, which is fine. We can also see that the gentlemen outnumber the ladies, which is also okay. That just means some of you guys will learn what it's like to follow instead of lead. You may find it's not quite as easy as it looks. Like Faith Whittlesley said: '_Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, but she did it backwards and in high heels._'"

Polite laughter followed Doris' cute quotation.

"To help break the ice a little," Lance said with a sly smile, "we've done something a little sneaky. If you didn't bring a partner, please look under your chairs. You'll find a piece of coloured paper stuck there. Find someone with the matching colour and they'll be your partner for the evening – unless you have serious reservations about the other person."

Donna played along and reached under her seat for the piece of paper. She slid her fingertips under the edge of paper when she found it, pulling it away.

_Blue._

The rest of the non-partnered attendees were doing the same. Some came up with red paper; others with yellow. Donna gazed around the room and saw five others were waving blue sheets in the air, all of them men.

_Mary was right_, she thought. _I do get to have my pick of the litter. _The five men were all looking at each other, then at her, and she figured she would make her move first. One of the five was the dark-haired fellow who'd made it to the lesson just prior to the start. Donna approached him, deciding he looked the least desperate to have a female partner, in spite of her earlier assessment that he and his friend were only there to cruise for a date.

"Hi," she said to him, flapping her blue paper. The sticker on his shirt identified him as 'Hank'.

"Hi," Hank replied, looking at his own blue sheet.

"Looks like we're a match, 'Hank'," Donna went on. "I'd be happy to be your partner this evening."

"Sure, okay," he said, and appeared to be pleasantly surprised she had asked. "… 'Donna'."

The four remaining 'blue' men stared at Donna and Hank for a few moments, and resignedly paired off with each other.

Donna looked more closely at her partner for the night and noticed his eyes were a deep, soulful brown. He was a few inches taller than her, had a long, aquiline nose, thin lips, and had a light brown complexion. Hank wasn't handsome in a conventional sense, but there was something indefinably attractive about him. For a moment, Donna idly wondered how it would feel to run her fingers through his dark, wavy hair.

"So, what brings you here tonight, Hank?" Donna asked, trying to break the ice a little further.

"Well, my buddy over there – Pete – his sister's getting married next month," Hank explained, motioning to where his friend was with a group of 'yellow' would-be dancers. "Since he's in the wedding party, she made him promise he'd learn how to dance. I'm just here for moral support, really."

"That's nice of you," Donna commended.

Hank shrugged. "We've been best friends since we were kids. I wasn't gonna abandon him. The guy has two left feet, so there was no way he was going to do this on his own… What about you? What brings you here?"

"Ahh, no real reason, really," Donna answered evasively. "Just something to do. And I always liked dancing, so it seemed like a good idea at the time. Maybe relieve some stress while I'm at it."

"Well, you don't seem stressed to me," Hank said politely.

Donna gave a short laugh. "Oh, you'd be surprised."

"Let me guess: stuff at work?" Hank asked.

She knew he was probing for information with the 'work' question, but answered with a non-committal: "Pretty much."

"Where do you work, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh, I work for the City," Donna replied vaguely, again deflecting this more direct inquiry. She didn't often like to admit she was a police officer right off the bat; it raised too many questions and sometimes made people uncomfortable in her presence. "What about you – if you don't mind me asking?"

"I work in I.T.," Hank said easily. "I know it sounds boring, but I've always been a techie, so it's a perfect fit for me."

Their conversation was interrupted when Lance the instructor asked, "Has everyone found a partner? I know we had an even number of people tonight…"

Some of the stragglers quickly scampered around the gym to find someone to dance with.

"Come on, men… don't be shy to dance with each other. We promise we won't judge your masculinity here," Doris added with a chuckle when she noticed the last two gents were reluctant to pair up with each other.

"All right, now that everyone has a partner, I think we're ready to begin," Lance said. He and Doris readied themselves to teach the lesson, and began by demonstrating proper body positioning.

Everyone mimicked what was being shown to them by the instructors. Donna placed her left hand on Hank's right shoulder, and he raised his arm so she could place her right hand in his left. Hank then placed his own right hand around her, resting just under her left shoulder blade.

"You okay like this?" Hank asked. "Comfortable?"

"Yes," Donna replied. "So far, so good."

"I promise not to step on your feet if you promise not to step on mine," he added with a smile.

"All right, I promise no foot-stomping," Donna said, mirroring his smile.

The pair returned their attention to Lance and Doris, who were expertly demonstrating the simple movements that comprised the basic _boom-tick-tick_ pattern of the Waltz steps.

"Does everyone see how this works?" Lance asked, casting a look over everyone.

"Now, it's your turn," Doris said encouragingly. "Starting in the Closed Position, try the box step a few times with your partner. Follows, allow the Leads to guide you, but remember that this isn't a power struggle. You shouldn't be fighting each other or tugging and shoving each other."

Hank's dark eyes met Donna's blues. "Ready?" he asked.

"Sure. Let's go," she said with a nod.

Effortlessly, Hank took the lead. The almost laughingly simple box step movements, however, felt like poetry in motion. Hank was nimble on his feet; his steps sure as he guided Donna through a series of _boom-tick-tick_ sequences, his grip around her light, but steady.

"You've done this before," Hank said through a smile.

"So have you," Donna replied, as they continued practicing the steps.

She happened to take a look around at the other novice dancers and saw that Hank's friend, Pete, was with a short, stocky man whose movements were very blocky and mechanical.

"No, _you're_ the Follow, _I'm_ the Lead! You move backwards, on your right foot when I go with my left."

Donna suppressed a giggle that was bubbling up in her throat as she overheard Pete's exasperated complaint. Lance heard as well, and hurried forward to intervene and lend some more personalized instruction.

It seemed Hank wasn't content with the repetitive box step. With a subtle change in pressure on her left hand, Donna felt Hank guiding her into a turn. She matched his movements automatically, their bodies moving in tandem to an imaginary beat that was all their own. They continued to dance, and Donna responded to Hank's confident lead, almost forgetting where they were for a moment.

"Aaand stop!" Doris announced.

Hank looked at Donna with an expression of mild surprise when they halted. "You don't need lessons in how to Waltz. What are you _really_ doing here?" he asked with mock suspicion as they broke apart.

"Didn't know they were going to be covering the Waltz tonight," she answered, then quieted as Doris started speaking again.

"How was that for starters, folks?" Doris asked the couples. "Give me a thumbs-up if it was good, thumbs-down if it was bad, and thumbs sideways if it was so-so."

Hank and Donna both gestured with an energetic thumbs-up sign.

Doris grinned at them. "Yeah, yeah, Fred and Ginger over there! I saw you having a good time," she chortled.

Majority of the couples had shown a thumbs-up, and were looking restless to continue onto something more challenging. Lance returned to Doris at that point to model the next basic Waltz steps, turning motions that Hank and Donna had earlier been making.

After modelling the turn steps a few more times, Doris and Lance let the 'students' have a go at it, this time adding music.

Donna noticed that Hank's posture was perfect as they once again started from the Closed Position, and together, glided on the floor to the strains of _Que Sera, Sera._ He was so light and confident on his feet, and so utterly comfortable with his role as Lead, Donna wondered how and when Hank had learned to dance so well.

'_When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother: What will I be? Will I be pretty? Will I be rich? Here's what she said to me…'_

The 3/4 rhythm seemed to beat like a metronome inside Hank, and he in turn transmitted that to Donna with natural grace and ease. The words to the song became incidental, and Donna found herself genuinely enjoying the security of Hank's hand on her back as he directed her into more complex steps. She was content to follow his lead, and he beamed with delight that she was keeping up with him.

Another song played, and then another, and Hank showed no signs of tiring or slowing down. It was all about the dance, and Donna found herself thinking that her father's long-ago instructions hadn't been so useless after all.

_Who knew that the Waltz could be this much fun?_ she thought.

At one point in the evening, Donna intuited that Hank was concerned about how Pete was progressing with his own unskilled partner.

"Do you mind if I give my buddy a hand over there?" he asked with some reluctance during the transition from one song to the next. Lance and Doris were both busy at that moment with a few other struggling couples.

"I don't mind," Donna said, knowing that neither of them truly needed the practice time with each other. "I can tag along, if you like... maybe help out Pete's partner."

"Sure," Hank said, and they made their way towards Pete and his partner for the night, named Angus.

"I'm here to rescue you, Pete," Hank said. Then looking at Angus, quipped: "Mind if I cut in?"

Angus goggled at Hank for a few moments, then answered: "He's all yours, pal."

Donna swallowed a smile. "Here, Angus," she said, as the next song began. "We're trading partners just for now. You lead, and I'll follow. Okay?"

Angus straightened the glasses that were sliding down his nose. He squared his wide shoulders and sucked in his generous paunch. "Okay," he huffed, "but I'm not very good at this… I wanna surprise my wife for our anniversary, see? She says I never take her out dancing. But that's because I don't want to embarrass myself. But she deserves to get to do stuff she likes, right? Especially for our anniversary, don't you think?"

"I think that sounds very thoughtful of you," Donna said indulgently. "All right… you take my hand here, and I've got my hand on your shoulder like this…"

Angus' earnest efforts came off as clumsy at first, as he tried to re-adjust his positioning to a new partner who was shorter than his original partner.

"It's okay, relax," Donna said calmly. She coached him through the basics as best she could, and felt Angus starting to loosen up and eventually take more of a lead role in the dance.

With a quick glance at Hank and Pete, she saw that they, too, were faring much better than when Pete and Angus had been partnered. In fact, they were having a lot of fun, goofing off and laughing at something Pete had done.

By the next song, Pete and Angus felt ready to be partnered again.

"Good to have you back," Hank said as Donna returned to him. "I mean, Pete's a nice guy and all, but it's nice to dance with someone who knows the steps really well."

The rest of the night seemed to fly by, and all too soon, the hour allotted for the lesson had passed.

"Give yourselves a round of applause," Lance proclaimed as the final song came to a close. "You've all done great tonight."

Everyone clapped obligingly, and Doris asked that they thank their respective partners for the dance before leaving.

"Thank you for the pleasure of this dance, 'Fred'," Donna dutifully said to Hank with a playful smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.

Hank grinned, remembering how Doris had nicknamed them earlier in the evening. "You're welcome, 'Ginger'," he rejoined, giving a theatrical bow. "And thank you, too. I had a lot of fun dancing with you tonight."

"How'd Pete manage in the end there with Angus?" she asked. "Will he be ready for his sister's wedding?"

"Oh, I think he'll be okay with a few more lessons," Hank said. "Will you be back next week?"

"Maybe," Donna said with a shrug. "If work doesn't interfere, I just might make it back."

"Hmm, must be some serious overtime with your job," Hank declared.

"Yeah, something like that," Donna said, still unwilling to reveal that she was with the Strategic Response Unit.

Hank gave her an odd look, unsure why she kept hedging on where she worked, but the expression passed as quickly as it appeared. "Well, have a good night, Donna," he said finally. "I hope you can make it for the next lesson."

"Thanks, Hank," she replied, shaking his hand. "Same to you. It was nice meeting you… and you, too, Pete."

Pete gave a friendly wave goodbye, and Donna turned to head towards her chair to collect her jacket. In doing so, she missed the look of encouragement Pete sent to Hank. She was nearly at her chair when she felt a hand on her arm. Donna looked back in surprise to see that Hank and Pete had trailed behind her.

"Hey, Donna…" Hank started, "would you like us to escort you out to the parking lot? It's pretty dark out there…"

_How sweet of them_, Donna thought of the gesture of chivalry. "Thanks for the offer, guys, but I'll be fine. I can take care of myself."

Hank looked uncertain. "Are you sure? It's not exactly the safest neighbourhood…"

Donna smiled, and realised only one thing would assuage their worries. "I'm sure, okay? Look, guys, I'm actually a police officer. I know a thing or two about personal safety."

Pete let out a low whistle. "You're a cop? Wow!"

"No wonder," Hank said in awe. "When we were dancing, I said to myself that you were really fit, like an athlete. Now I know why."

Donna couldn't help but laugh as she zipped up her jacket. "So, do I pass the inspection, then? I'm allowed to go out into the big, dark parking lot all by myself?"

Hank and Pete laughed.

"I think you'd probably kick both our asses if we tried to stand in your way, Donna," Hank said jokingly, raising his hands in a defensive gesture.

"You bet I would," she teased. "Thanks for your concern, gentlemen. Good night."

"'Night," the two friends said in reply, and she pushed open the gym doors and was gone.

Driving home that night, Donna let her mind replay everything about the evening's dance lesson. For a full hour, she realised she had been able to relax. She'd been able to just be herself, without the burdens of the job, and she'd actually had _fun._ And Hank…

_What a nice guy_, Donna thought warmly. _I felt… _safe_ dancing with Hank tonight…_ _The way he held me and led me on the floor… it felt so comfortable and natural… It felt right._

_He's what… maybe thirty-five? Thirty-six?_

Donna pouted unconsciously.

_Okay, so he's younger than I am by a few years… I never really thought about dating a younger guy before… _

_What _am_ I thinking?! Dating? How did we get from dancing to dating?_

The mental debate continued: _There's nothing wrong with dating a man younger than you are, you know… _

_But… What if _he_ doesn't want to date an older woman?_

The thought left Donna feeling oddly depressed. As she reached her apartment complex and headed inside and up to her suite, she nevertheless held on to the pleasant hour she'd just spent dancing with Hank. It was clear that the enjoyment had been mutual, and he'd seemed genuinely eager to want to make sure she reached her vehicle safely. She couldn't be sure at this point, but perhaps there was more to it than just mere polite, old-fashioned chivalry.

One thing _was_ clear by the time her head hit the pillow, though:

She knew she wanted to see Hank again.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC<strong>


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Yes, I know it's been a while. Sorry. You see, 'Keep the Peace' was a bit like a punch to the gut. Threw all sorts of plans I had projected for this tale out the window. So while that end has no actual bearing on the Season 2 episodes I'm rehashing, there were so many things I was putting into place that we didn't see that I have to now ensure still make sense in the larger narrative of the whole series. **

**In this chapter, we have the events of 'Aisle 13' and the brief start to 'The Perfect Family'. Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

><p><strong>Kill Bill<strong>

**Chapter XII**

* * *

><p>Donna's phone rang around 1 PM the next afternoon. It was no surprise to her who was on the other end, since her Team Leader had promised to check in on her.<p>

"So, did you take my advice about tackling a hobby or two?" Ed asked, after determining that she was in much better spirits.

"I did," Donna was glad to admit. "I went out to a ballroom dance lesson. I actually had a good time, so thanks for pushing me in that direction."

"That's great, Donna," Ed commented, sounding pleased with himself. "And you're welcome. Taking steps like that will be really valuable in the long run as to how well you cope with the stresses of this job. If dancing works for you, I hope you keep it up."

"You know, I think I will," Donna said, as Hank's face came to mind. "Thanks for calling, Ed. I'm in a totally different space now than when I was the night I called you."

"You sound more upbeat, too," Ed observed. "Remember: if you have anything you need to get off your chest, you call me or Sam, okay? I hear that you're in a good space now, but if that changes, I'd like to know about it so I can help."

"Fair enough," Donna said.

They chatted for a few more minutes, and Donna realised Ed was simply gauging the authenticity of her mood by his thoroughly non-threatening questions.

She was happy and grateful for his professional and personal concern for her well-being, and reflected that if she ever had to return the favour, she hoped she would have the strength to be just as supportive as her Team Leader was at this moment.

"All right, see you at HQ this afternoon," Ed said finally, obviously satisfied with Donna's responses and the general tone of their conversation.

"Absolutely," Donna returned, realising she was actually looking forward to being on shift tonight. The antsy feeling that usually crept up on her after too much down time was starting to assert itself, and she welcomed the idea that she wouldn't be inactive for much longer. She hung up the phone, already mentally preparing herself for the upcoming twelve-hour duty with Team One.

ooo

Throughout the rigorous, sweat-inducing pre-shift workout, Donna was on the receiving end of the chatter of a very animated Spike Scarlatti. He could talk a mile a minute, but Donna decided she liked hearing Spike's accounts of some of the calls Team One had been on. She immediately knew his self-aggrandizing versions of things were skewed, and she held her tongue firmly in her cheek at the shameless exaggerations.

"…_So I had to think fast, right? Like, uh, one of those times you gotta do what you gotta do, right? So the subject comes running up screaming. I kick the door down, right?_"

"_Spike didn't kick the door in,_" Ed corrected. Four of them were re-entering the workout area following a brief water break.

Wordy chortled. "_I did._"

"_And the subject wasn't screaming,_" Lou added.

Spike sent all three a look of exasperation. "_Guys," _he snapped,_ "you mind? I'm telling a story here, okay?_"

Donna struggled to control her own laughter, but Spike was obviously enjoying his creative re-telling of the story and she humoured him.

"_So,_" he went on, "s_ubject comes out with this blade, Donna, and it's like this big_." He held his hands a significant distance apart.

"_Wow, a sword!_" she declared, appearing suitably impressed.

Catching a hint of disbelief in her tone, he amended his estimation of the length of the weapon. "_Okay... Okay. Maybe more like that," _he conceded, reducing the space between his hands to about a foot.

"_A machete,_" Donna said with a straight face, still trying to play along. However, she was still finding it very difficult not to laugh out loud at Spike's embellishments.

Spike cheerfully agreed: "_Yeah, sure! It was a machete-"_

"_Donna,_" Ed interrupted gleefully, "_this big._" The team leader held up his thumb and index finger, indicating a rather puny length for the so-called 'blade'.

Spike was incredulous. "_What are you talkin' about, 'this big'?" _he countered, mimicking Ed's unflattering estimation with his own thumb and index finger.

"_I'm just saying it wasn-" _

"_What is _that_ supposed to be?_" Spike interrupted Ed's protest, as Donna giggled. "_That's not even a letter-opener!"_

"_It doesn't matter about the size, Spike,"_ Donna tried to assure her team mate, while a morose-looking Sam Braddock chose that moment to amble into the workout area.

But Spike couldn't let it go. _"What're you doin', 'that'?" _he asked Ed, still holding up his own fingers an inch apart. "_You know you shouldn't do that to a guy, ever!"_

At that point, Ed's joking mood was over. "_Sam, you're late for work-out," _he rebuked, keeping it just short of an accusation. He didn't want it to turn into an interrogation in front of the team.

"_Sorry, sir,_" the ex-soldier sullenly stated as he taped up his hand; barely glancing up at Ed.

The Team Leader looked at the brooding younger man intently, and after a pause, made the decision to let the infraction go – for the time being.

That brief, somewhat uncomfortable exchange brought an end to the jovial mood in the work-out room, and everyone returned to their personal regimen before finally hitting the showers and dressing for the evening.

Donna noticed that Sam was grim-faced and more stoic than usual when Ed assigned them to each other for the night patrol. He didn't make eye contact with her, nor did he raise a protest of any kind when she claimed the keys to their SUV.

_What on earth has got him so wound up,_ she wondered as the team broke off to grab the necessary gear for the length of the shift. _Maybe he just doesn't like to be partnered with a woman? God knows there are plenty of misogynists on the force who still don't like having to work with females…_

But her gut was telling her that Sam Braddock was somehow not cut from that 'Old Boys Club' cloth. Plus, Donna reminded herself that the officer whose spot she was presently occupying was also a woman. Surely Sam had gotten along with Jules Callaghan? If there had been problems over male-female relations in the past, surely the team would have been reluctant to select another woman for the spot?

She also wondered about her Team Leader's logic when he paired Sam with her for the night. Was he hoping they would somehow hit it off if they were forced to spend time together? Bond with each other somehow? If Sam was honestly bothered by Ed's decision, he didn't voice it. There was no discussion or request for a different partner… just silence.

_Maybe he's just the strong, silent type_, she mused. _Maybe it's his way of mentally preparing for whatever call comes our way, unlike Spike, who's liable to talk your ear off before, during, and after shift._

Donna just didn't know what to think and decided to let it drop. In life, she knew there were just going to be people she rubbed the wrong way for no apparent reason, and vice versa. Worrying too much about the whys would just be a waste of energy.

They were barely into their patrol when Winnie alerted them to a gun call with hostages at a grocery store. Sam maintained his silence as they drove with their sirens and lights on; Donna didn't even bother to make small-talk with him because she sensed that trying to engage him on even a superficial level right now would be futile.

Upon arrival at their destination, Sam hurriedly hopped out of the SUV, popped the hatch and wordlessly handed Donna her MP5. Ed approached and tasked them with recon duty of the building, wanting to know all ways in and out. A muttered 'copy that' from Sam, and they jogged off into the cold night air to take care of their assignment.

The call would be a challenging one, and throughout, Donna found herself feeling like a bit of an outsider. The team dynamic was somehow off-kilter, and she sensed a continued tension between Ed and Sam. The ex-soldier seemed frustrated about something, but followed orders, nevertheless. It made Donna wonder if there was some kind of weird power-struggle going on with the two officers who displayed very evident 'alpha-male' personalities.

As the night wore on, she had several moments of inactivity where her brain kept buzzing. It was during one of those moments that it suddenly dawned on Donna that by relegating her to recon duty, Ed had effectively removed her from the possibility of having to take a Scorpio shot if it had been necessary. So instead of being in the thick of things, she was mostly looking at building plans and playing messenger-girl to Greg when the worried parents of the hostage-takers arrived on the scene. Puzzled, and briefly disturbed, a tiny worry nagged that her TL had lost some faith in her ability to perform in the field after the traumatic incident at the airport.

But by the time the call was all over, Donna had her first explosive entry under her belt, two teenaged boys were in custody, and the security guard one of them had shot was on his way to hospital in stable condition.

The debrief back at the Barn was relatively easy; no fatalities was always a welcome outcome. No SIU hearings, no guilt, no blood to wash from stained hands, though everyone knew Ed had been a hairsbreadth away from executing Greg's reluctant 'Scorpio' command. The team reviewed the transcripts from the call, talked about what went well and what didn't; filing information away for future calls and scenarios.

Adam and Donnie, the two youths who were the cause of the night's mayhem, would certainly be facing some sort of jail time, Donna knew. It was really too bad, given what the team knew about their circumstances. They weren't a couple of punks looking for a quick score to feed some habit; Donnie Lakeman genuinely figured robbing his former place of work was a viable option in order to keep the only friend he had.

_The lengths some people will go to for a friend_, Donna ruminated, as she left for the locker room. She stripped out of her uniform and stood under the shower, feeling the last vestiges of the day's stresses sloughing away. Something Adam said to Donnie had caught her attention:

"_We're brothers, and brothers need to be there for each other."_

In spite of the hot shower and steam billowing around her, a chill crept up Donna's spine. Bill Kedrick's haunted face loomed large in her mind.

She recalled the conversation they'd had right after Ignacio had been killed and the task force to bring down Neil Cavell had been in disarray:

"_We're partners…We're supposed to… be together on everything…_ _Promise me you'll always be there…"_

Where was he now? What was he doing? Was he in trouble? Donna felt old anxieties gnawing at her insides. Two months had already gone by without a word from Bill, and discreet inquiries through her old contacts with Vice came up empty.

_Something's just not right_, Donna thought with a deep frown. _But how can I be there for him if he doesn't want to be found? _

Dripping wet, she quickly wrapped herself in the waiting towel, revelling in the soft, thick terry-cloth material that immediately protected her from the sudden change in temperature as she stepped from the shower stall.

_I love my new job,_ she reflected, drying off and pulling on jeans and a sweater. _I love the excitement, and the challenge, and the team… what I'm feeling now – I wish I could be sharing with you, right now, Bill… I wish I could be telling you how great it is to be in the 'cool pants'. Our partnership was so good, and you were the best damned undercover cop we had on the squad. What's happening with you? You can't throw away that life, Bill._

By the time she made it out of the locker room, the floor was quiet. Winnie had been replaced by Sidney at the dispatch desk for the graveyard shift, and Team One's members didn't seem to have lingered around for any of their usual playful post-shift antics. _Either that, or they're all still in their locker room_, Donna reasoned. It was late; the weather was still brutally cold, and guys like Wordy and Ed had families to go home to, so she didn't blame them for not wanting to stick around if they had indeed clocked out.

She swallowed a chuckle as she remembered Spike's earlier attempts at impressing her. The team computer specialist and bomb technician was quite the character with his spritely personality and sense of humor. Lewis Young was more reserved, but Donna sensed that beneath his quiet demeanour lurked a fun-loving temperament. He and Spike also looked like they were joined at the hip, and wondered how they came to be such good pals.

Figuring out the team members was an interesting exercise, and Donna felt she had most of them already pegged – with the exception of Sam. She gave an unconscious shrug as she exited the building and crossed the parking lot to her truck. She shivered as she sat down in the driver's seat and slammed the door. Her breath was visible in the truck's interior lights, clear evidence of the continued sub-zero temperatures still gripping the city.

_I need to go someplace warm one of these days,_ she thought. She let the engine turn over and cranked up the heat, shoving her chilled hands directly in front of the vent. _I hear Mexico is nice, or Cuba, or Hawaii, or anyplace that doesn't have snow! _

She imagined a tropical shore and warm sun beating down on her bare skin, then quickly broke from her reverie as she remembered she was liable to end up with painful sunburns rather than a tan.

_So I'll slather on the sunblock,_ she thought wryly; _anything to break the monotony of this winter weather. Spring and summer can't come soon enough!_ Truly, Donna was wearied of the sight of dirty snow banks piled high on the sides of the streets; was weary of the chilly working conditions. The only positive thing about the freezing weather was that criminals tended to stay indoors too, meaning incidents requiring a police response saw an appreciable decrease.

She was entitled to five weeks of vacation given her years of service, and she'd put in for her time off by the requisite deadline with administration, but she hadn't made any concrete plans. Thinking of Ed's advice to return to old hobbies, Donna pictured herself gliding along lake surfaces in a kayak as she had done during camping trips of the distant past with her father and sister.

_Now that's something I _really_ haven't done in a long time_, Donna realised, _not since I left high school. _

The family cabin in Muskoka had passed to her and her sister upon their dad's death, but Donna hadn't set foot on the property for several years.

_And with Carolyn overseas with Ron and the kids, it's just sitting there, empty… Maybe I can convince them to fly out here for a week or so when I'm off and we can all head out to the cabin; it'll be good to catch up. Besides, her kids haven't even been to the cabin before. It's going to be theirs one day; it's time they got to know it. _

The truck had finally warmed up enough. Donna put it in gear and drove off, her mind flowing with memories of summers past.

ooo

Donna groaned at the screeching alarm that forced her from a deep sleep. Cracking open one eye, she looked at the readout in disbelief: four AM. Had she really slept for eight hours, she wondered? It didn't feel like it. She resisted the temptation to hit the 'snooze' button and got up out of bed. Team One was back on the day shift again this week, and she had to be at HQ in an hour for the pre-shift work-out.

Yawning loudly, bleary-eyed and woolly-headed, she ambled almost drunkenly to the kitchen where she popped a bowl of instant oatmeal into the microwave. She never liked working out on an empty stomach, so she always tried to get something down before these early-morning starts.

She flicked on the television set to the weather channel and did a few stretches to try to get her blood moving. The outdoor temperature that was on permanent display indicated that it was still very cold: minus 17 degrees Celsius. However, the extended forecast called for a break – finally – in the next two days, where it was going to be above zero. Sunny with a high of plus five, was the prognostication.

"Oh, yeah," Donna said out loud with a contented sigh, "downright balmy after the weather we've been having."

The microwave beeped, and Donna pulled out the steaming bowl. She added a handful of dried cranberries and poured a glass of orange juice. Still not quite fully awake, she had to force herself to focus on eating and drinking. Most people, she knew, would have been downing a cup or two of coffee to provide the necessary jolt to wake up, but it was a morning habit that Donna had never formed. She never liked the idea of being reliant on a stimulant – even one as seemingly innocuous as caffeine – to get ready for the day. She remembered the slightly raised eyebrow from Ed when she requested steamed milk the first time he asked what she wanted when he was making a coffee run. Everyone was used to her regular order of two milks by now, and nobody had yet taken the opportunity to 'substitute' her order with something else as a prank.

"It's not that I don't like coffee," she'd explained to Ed that first time, "I just don't want to be dependent on it."

By the time Donna was finished her meager meal, she'd sufficiently shaken loose the cobwebs and felt more ready to face the day. First thing on the agenda, they were going to be assisting another law enforcement department with handling a notorious biker gang. They were armed with a no-knock warrant that had been secured the evening prior, and they hoped that they still had the element of surprise on their hands with the early-morning raid they had planned.

As Team Leader, Ed once again briefed the team – sans a vacationing Sam Braddock – of the way the raid was going to go down. A member of the F.O.R.T. team was liaising with them, and he was grateful for SRU cooperation as he explained what his people would be doing in conjunction with Team One.

Once everything had been reviewed, Ed paired up the six present members of his team, picking Donna to partner with for the day. He put Wordy with Greg, and Lou with his chatter-box pal, Spike.

Everything went off without a hitch. The fatal incident at the airport from a few weeks ago was the furthest thing from Donna's mind as she handed off a criminal to the waiting F.O.R.T. officer after a successful identification. Ed grinned at the collar and said to her: "Save some for the rest of us, huh?"

"Will do," she replied with a smile, and jogged back into the raided building to lend some more assistance. Four arrests had already been made, and a few other alleged gang members were still inside, just waiting for the F.O.R.T. guys to positively identify them. Ed and Greg appeared to be talking about something of a serious nature as she escorted another scumbag outside, this one a barrel-chested man with long dark hair and a beard, clad in a leather jacket and tee. Donna took brief notice of her colleagues and then palmed off her guy to another F.O.R.T. officer. She had no way of knowing Ed and Greg were discussing her.

After finishing up with the arrests, Team One had nothing else slated for the day, which meant straight patrol duty. Donna happily returned to the warmth of the SUV while Ed rode shotgun. Her spirits were high: they'd made a total of eight arrests, and the F.O.R.T. guys were confident that the gang members were going to be behind bars for a long time to come.

It wasn't long before another incident presented itself which would require SRU action.

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><p><strong>TBC...<strong>


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: I could make excuses for delays again, but I won't. But here's an extra-long chapter for your enjoyment. Dark themes contained within; you've been warned. This chapter delves into the events of the episode'The Perfect Family'. I have not put the episode dialogue in italics this time, as it would have made things a little too confusing. Suffice to say, I do have the characters' lines from the episode appear verbatim. However, a case from Donna's past as a Vice officer is interwoven in this chapter, and those events are in italics. **

* * *

><p><strong>Kill Bill<strong>

**Chapter XIII**

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><p><em>Why did it have to involve a<em> _baby_?

Her heart had been in her throat the instant Donna got the frantic command to stand down in her pursuit of the home-invasion suspects. With a baby possibly on board, ramming the stolen vehicle was in no way a viable option. She'd reacted as quickly as she could, slamming on the brakes while yanking the steering wheel with all her strength to avoid the collision she feared would be inevitable. In fact, Donna was mentally bracing for the jarring impact; her ears prepping for the sound of crunching metal and shattering glass. Miraculously, it never came to pass, and for a moment, she was in awe that she'd narrowly escaped a wreck.

"Sabine, you good to go?" Ed asked. His urgent tone broke through her mental fog.

"I'm on it," she affirmed, putting the SUV into reverse and finally getting back on track.

Doubtless the home invaders hadn't taken the time to secure the baby in a car seat, if indeed they had taken him. Their actions had been impulsive; brazen. Nevertheless, Team One wouldn't be bringing this chase to a stop by attempting to use forceful means again.

Babies were among the most helpless, precious, and vulnerable members of human society, and all Donna could think about was how close she had come to nearly ending the life of one of them. She tried to keep her mind focused on maintaining the standard pursuit formation with the others, but memories of squalid rooms and filthy crack houses bubbled to the surface. She strained to blank out the images of famished toddlers crying and screaming, left to sit in their own excrement; perpetually howling babies who were born addicted to whatever illicit substances their mothers had taken, the adults around them either too stoned or too mentally vacant to do anything to remedy the situation.

_Get your head back in the game!_ Donna admonished herself fiercely.

Still, she struggled not to think of a particular case from early in her ten-year haul as a Vice officer. It was the kind of case that had made her blood boil and question her faith in humanity, and had nearly brought her to the point of quitting altogether. The story had even made the papers at the time, and the outcry from the public had been swift and damning when the details were splashed all over the front page of the city newspapers.

The drug bust was supposed to have been routine. Donna and her colleagues at the time had done their homework and secured the necessary warrants. Two drug dealers were occupying a home in a neighbourhood synonymous with drugs and shady businesses. Weeks of surveillance saw addicts coming and going at all hours of the day and night. Those involved were clearly unconcerned that their illegal activities were being paraded around, even in broad daylight. This sort of behaviour, a flouting of the laws and callous disregard for the safety of those around infuriated Donna, because she saw first-hand what a scourge the drug trade was on society.

On this particular case, she was in the role of an addict, her first time adopting the name 'Melinda'. She had been hanging out at the drug house for several days and evenings a week for nearly a month, familiarizing herself with the place and acquainting herself with the dealers and their hangers-on.

One dealer was called 'Wheeler': a tall, dark, taciturn guy in his early thirties who kept his head shaved, wore pricey business suits, and seemed to be the one 'in charge'. The second dealer, who went by the name of 'Monty', sported a variety of tattoos on his pale, sinewy arms, and usually had his girlfriend draped over him. Monty called her 'Babs', and like her boyfriend, was in her mid-twenties. Her green eyes were cat-like with heavy black eyeliner, her permed hair was cheaply dyed and streaked blonde, and she dressed provocatively. She and Donna barely exchanged a word, but Babs behaved very territorially, making sure every other female who ventured into the drug house knew Monty was _hers._

Other 'friends' and acquaintances of Wheeler and Monty would spill about the house, occupying the rooms for their personal reasons; various drug paraphernalia left lying around.

Donna's team was preparing to execute the arrest warrants under the cover of darkness, having been given a green light to proceed. It was late afternoon on the chosen date when a skinny, wan young woman carrying a backpack on her hunched shoulders showed up at the house, looking to score a hit of something. Monty had slyly ushered her inside.

Even though Donna was pretending to be wasted as she sat in a dank corner of the house, she took careful note of the new arrival: she was probably barely out of high school, and her brown hair was long, stringy and in desperate need of washing. Her clothes, too, were filthy and ill-fitting. Maybe at one time they had fit snugly, but the girl had evidently lost a good deal of weight recently, so her jeans were loose at the waist and her hoodie almost swallowed her. Donna would soon discover the girl's dire circumstances, and the ensuing tragedy would haunt her.

"_I need something good,"_ _said the desperate girl._

"_Anything you want," Monty said, solicitous of his client. He withdrew a tiny baggie and shook it tantalizingly in front of her face. "It's yours, honey-buns… if you can meet my price."_

_The girl seemed to be dazzled by the drugs; her sad, empty eyes struggling to focus on the baggie. "I can pay," she said in a wheedling tone, "just not right now…"_

"_Well, then I guess I won't be able to give this to you 'right now'," the dealer replied with a 'tsk', and pocketed the drugs._

"_But – I need… I – I'm good for it!" she cried. "I brought something else… it can be like… like collateral… like a down payment, okay?"_

"_Honey, I don't do charity, and this ain't no bank. Get lost." Monty had run out of what little patience he had._

_The girl was undeterred. She slipped the backpack off her shoulders and rested it on the floor as Donna watched. She unzipped it and withdrew a sleeping, listless infant that was wrapped in a blanket and clothed in a soiled jumper two sizes too big._

"_Here," the girl said, thrusting the baby at the dealer. "Take him. I gave birth like, a couple weeks ago, and I'm sure he's worth something. You could sell him, right? Aren't people always complaining that they have to wait so long to adopt a baby? You could find some people who want a baby, and that could be your payment."_

_She sounded so hopeful and pitiful, Donna immediately wanted to intercede._

"_Do I look like an adoption agency?" Monty's face twisted in a disdainful sneer. He uttered a profanity and roughly shoved the girl towards the door. "Get lost, and don't crawl back here ever again."_

_Crestfallen, the girl tried not to cry right there on the threshold. The baby she still clutched had not stirred through all of this, and Donna silently begged the girl to just leave and be out of this God-forsaken place. She vowed that as soon as she was able, she would alert Child Services. The young mother was obviously still a minor, an addict and a runaway, which meant she was in no position to raise a newborn._

"_Bring that baby back here!"_

_Donna made a massive effort to hide her surprise at the shouted command. She concealed her interest as best she could in what was happening as Babs, holding a lit cigarette in one hand, approached the girl and baby. _

"_I always wanted a kid," Babs cooed while stretching out a finger to stroke the cheek of the slumbering baby. She blew out a cloud of cigarette smoke._

"_Babs, I don't want a baby in here," Monty growled. He put a hand on her shoulder to pull her back. "What do you know about lookin' after a freakin' baby, anyway? They're too much trouble, and they're bad for business."_

"_But they're so much fun to play with," Babs said with a grin, shrugging off Monty's hand, ignoring his obvious displeasure at the interest she was showing in the teen's 'offer'._

_Something in the way Babs uttered the word 'play' sent a sinister sensation coiling around Donna's spine. There had been nothing in Babs' personality that Donna had seen over the past few weeks undercover that made her seem remotely maternal. What possible reason could Babs have for wanting a newborn? _

"_You can take him!" the runaway girl blurted out eagerly; desperately. "Fair trade. Gimmie what I need, and you can have the baby. You see? He sleeps real good and he doesn't cry much."_

"_Mm-hmm," Babs mumbled absently, a grin spreading across her face. "He's real nice, for sure. I'd like to take him right now. Monty, I want this baby. Got it?"_

_Monty realised Babs was not going to be dissuaded. "You deal with it," he grumbled, again tossing out a foul word to emphasize his irritation with the whole situation. "Stinkin' babies."_

_Babs dropped her half-smoked cigarette and crushed it underfoot. She took the infant from his mother and slipped a hand into Monty's pocket for the baggie. _

"_There ya go, kid," Babs declared, handing over the drugs. "Now scram. And don't come back lookin' for this kid, got it? He's mine now, fair and square. Go! Beat it!"_

_The teen scurried out of the house, not even bothering to collect her backpack as she left, chased by Babs' ruthless parting words. _

_Donna felt her fists curl almost of their own volition. She bit back a cry of anger and frustration while a spike of sorrow pierced her heart. The baby's mother hadn't even bid him goodbye. No "His name is"; no last kiss or caress; just dumped into the hands of a stranger in exchange for a few ounces of cocaine. _

"_Great, Babs," Monty whined while Babs rocked the baby in her arms. "Now you get to explain to Wheeler why we just got shit for a couple ounces." _

_Babs laughed harshly; derisively. "Me? Explain? You really don't know anything about Wheeler, do you?"_

"_Whatever," Monty griped. "Just don't come cryin' to me when he takes your head off. What if that girl _does_ come back here beggin' for her kid? What if she goes to the cops?"_

"_She won't," Babs snapped, arching an eyebrow at Monty. "Anyone can see, plain as day, she was relieved to get rid of this kid. Besides, the cops don't believe druggie runaways."_

_Donna was torn. Her team was going to be busting into this house when night fell, and she was supposed to be swept up by the arresting officers in order to establish her undercover identity of 'Melinda'. But there was a baby on the premises now. She _had_ to get the message out without blowing her cover that with this innocent infant, they would have to postpone the bust…_

The chase was still in progress. All the members of Team One could hear the baby's cries over their comm link when Greg made contact with the kidnapping couple; uniformed officers at the scene of the home invasion having already confirmed that the baby had been taken. Back at SRU headquarters, Winnie was working feverishly to obtain as much information as she could about the kidnappers. The female member of the pair was named Jessie, and Greg attempted to convince her, along with her companion, to stop running, but to no avail.

"Let's go to Plan 'B'," Greg announced to the team.

Ed asked Lewis if he was ready to proceed with tagging the stolen silver BMW with a GPS tracking device.

"Yes, sir!" Lou confirmed, once again relegated to the role of taking less-lethal action.

Ed advised Spike to get into position so Lou could aim for the rear bumper; told Donna to get ready to distract the driver. If Lou was successful, Greg wanted the team to back off on the chase.

"Go now!" Ed commanded, and Donna reacted immediately. With a sudden burst of speed, she shot ahead of the stolen BMW, then slowed so she matched its speed while maintaining a slight lead. Unfortunately, the ruse didn't quite work. The fleeing couple caught sight of Lewis with his 'weapon' and panicked.

"Cover's blown, Lewis! You've got no time," Ed warned, seeing that Jessie had screamed and had ducked for cover.

His words caused Donna's mind to flip back to the old drug case again. She saw herself sitting in the crack house, caught up in the struggle she had of dealing with the new development and the role she had to play in the bust.

_Do I risk blowing my cover? I have to. There's a baby at risk. I have to get out of here, now, and warn the team. _

_The baby was awake and fussing; its weak cries made Donna all the more frantic to get out of the house. Monty was in a foul mood, and Babs had no idea how to comfort the infant. She kept bouncing him on her lap without an ounce of tenderness, neglecting to provide support for his tiny head and neck. When that failed to placate him, Babs tried singing. Her voice came out in scratchy, off-key tones, and the lack of musicality seemed to further cause the baby distress._

"_Hey, you!" Babs called out in Donna's direction. "It's Melinda, right? Grab that backpack over there."_

_Donna reacted lazily, as if she were still hung over. With deliberately slow movements, she crawled over to the backpack._

"_Move it! C'mon, hurry up. Jeez!" Babs hollered, "I haven't got all day!"_

"_This?" Donna-as-Melinda asked dumbly as she knelt in front of the open pack._

"_Yeah, that," Babs snarled with impatience. "See if there are diapers or baby food in there or something."_

_Donna peeked inside. "I don't see nothin' in here like that," she replied, looking up at Babs with a bewildered expression._

"_Damnit," Babs swore under her breath. "This kid needs a change and he needs stuff to eat."_

_It was the opportunity Donna was waiting for, and she seized it. "Uh, I could go get stuff."_

_A look of surprise crossed Babs' face. She looked back at Donna with new interest. "Yeah? Really?"_

_Donna nodded. "Yeah..." _

"_Good. 'Bout time you did something else than sit around here on your lazy ass," Babs ground out. "I don't know why Wheeler lets you stick around here as long as you do, anyway."_

"_I-I just don't have any m- money to buy anything right now," Donna stammered. _

"_So steal it, dumb-ass!" she rejoined with scorn in her eyes. "If you can't be resourceful in this world, you're good as dead. Now get going, and don't bother to come back if you can't manage to get anything useful."_

"_Okay, I'm going," Donna answered meekly, bowing her head down as if she was fearful of being physically beaten._

_She slipped out of the house quietly, aware that the sun was setting. In a little under an hour, her team would be ready to move in…_

Lewis fired the GPS tracker at the fleeing SUV. He hit his mark, and the device held.

"Spike, I'm going to fall back," Donna advised her team mate, once Ed confirmed that the GPS signal was functioning properly.

"Copy that," Spike replied. They all decelerated, allowing the kidnappers the freedom to drive off. The SRU officers were confident the GPS signal would allow them to follow at a safe speed and distance that did not endanger the baby.

Moments later, Winnie announced that she'd uncovered disturbing information about the young male kidnapper, who was identified as one Terry Dornan. Not only did he have a record, but he'd almost killed another man two months prior.

Donna's insides seized painfully at this news. With a violent history, Terry Dornan was clearly not the sort of person anyone would want around a newborn baby.

_Donna had just walked past the non-descript van a couple members of her team were using for surveillance of the drug house. She realised they must be wondering what she was doing leaving the house, but she could not risk being seen talking to them. As she ambled down the cracked, trash-strewn sidewalk towards a tiny strip mall nearby, she stopped suddenly in her tracks. Someone was trying to get her attention. _

"_Psst… Hey… Hey, Mel!"_

_She turned and saw Zeke, another one of Monty and Wheeler's acquaintances and drug-house denizens. He was probably twenty years old, skeletal and already balding. His ears were large, and he had several rotting teeth in his small mouth. Despite his ill appearance, Zeke was an energetic chatterbox whose manic movements were often a source of irritation for those around him when he refused to sit still and shut up._

"_What do you want, Zeke?" Donna asked impatiently. She had to lose him, fast, or he would ruin any chance she had of making contact with her team._

"_Mel," Zeke sniffed, "that girl who shown up earlier… What did she want, huh?"_

"_What do you think she wanted, Zeke?" Sarcasm coloured her question-as-an-answer._

_Zeke bounced from foot to foot and grinned. "Heh-heh!" he giggled. "Right, right! Sure, we all know what she _wanted_, but… I know she had a kid with her when she went in. I saw her stuff him inside her pack a few blocks back."_

"_So, what?" Donna asked airily, feigning disinterest._

"_She didn't have no pack when she came out!" Zeke clapped his hands together._

"_Babs took the baby," Donna explained. "Why do you care?"_

"_Bet that made Monty pretty upset," Zeke chortled, sidling up to Donna, invading her personal space. She could smell his rank breath and unwashed odor, and she put on a burst of speed to hopefully outpace him._

_Zeke, however, was not going to be left behind. "Wait up, sister," he called. "You wanna know why Babs wanted that baby?"_

"_No," Donna said irritably, getting more upset with herself that she was unable to make Zeke leave her alone. "All I care is that she doesn't make Wheeler cut me off if I don't get her the stuff she needs for the baby."_

_Zeke's grin broadened and he let out a giggle. "Ah, Wheeler! What a stupid name, you know? Like he's supposed to be some big 'wheeler-dealer', or something. But he's not just a dealer, y'know. He's something much nastier…"_

_Donna turned to him and fixed her gaze on his jittery form. When he noticed she was looking at him, he shoved his hands to his face to stifle another giggle. Then he made a zipping gesture across his lips; his eyes getting shifty and secretive._

_Rolling her eyes, Donna once more tried to walk on._

"_Wheeler and Babs – they're not nice people. Not nice, at all," Zeke stated. "Monty thinks he knows 'em, but he's just mush-for-brains. He doesn't know half of what they're into. Not half!"_

_Keenly aware that if Zeke knew something more about the drug dealers that she and her team did not know, now was the time to find out. Donna stopped, and seemed to consider what he'd said. "They're into more than just the usual stuff? Really? You could tell me, you know. Promise I won't tell a soul," she implored._

_Zeke seemed to enjoy being begged, but still hedged. "Well, I dunno…"_

"_You're full of it," Donna concluded after a pause, a note of challenge in her voice. "Stop wasting my time. You don't know anything." She made a move to continue on, hoping Zeke would rise to her bait, not looking back once as she sauntered off._

"_Okay, okay!" Zeke called out. "Hey, wait, sister! Come back. I'll tell you my secret. I'll tell you!"_

"_Yeah, whatever, Zeke," Donna called back, raising a dismissive hand._

_Zeke grunted and ran to catch up to her. "You really wanna know, right? What I know could get me in trouble if they knew that I knew and was tellin' you," he said, with a conspiratorial whisper._

"_So are you gonna tell me, or not?" Donna sighed impatiently. "Clock's ticking. If I don't get back to Babs soon, she's not gonna be a happy camper."_

"_Hey, screw Babs, and screw Wheeler!" Zeke retorted, his face suddenly turning dark as all prior traces of giddy playfulness vanished. _

_Donna raised an eyebrow at this unexpected outburst and flip in his demeanour. She hadn't realised Zeke could be so mercurial. _

"_Yeah, everyone knows that Wheeler deals drugs and can afford those fancy suits and those flashy cars. But he's also makin' a pile of money on the internet… Him and Babs… sellin' dirty pictures… of _kids_."_

"_What?!" Donna could hardly conceal her shock and revulsion._

"_You heard me, sister," Zeke said sourly. "Now, I ain't no saint; I freely admit that. I'm no good to anybody, and I never claimed to be, neither… but that… that sort of thing's just _wrong,_ sister. Y'know? Sick, sick stuff, I'm tellin' ya."_

"_Right… very sick…" Donna managed to answer feebly, her mind flying in a thousand directions at once, wondering if anyone in Vice was aware of Wheeler and Babs' other 'activities', because it was the first she was hearing of it. Their profile of Wheeler was obviously woefully incomplete if they had missed this crucial and disturbing piece about him… With this new information, Donna wanted to be sure their current warrants covered anything they might find related to these new despicable crimes Zeke was insinuating. But the more charges they could make stick to Wheeler, the better…_

Team One had fallen back as planned, keeping careful watch on the BMW's location on their GPS scanners. Luck, however, would not be on their side. As Ed watched, the flashing orange dot representing their quarry inexplicably blinked out and did not re-appear. The tracking device either became dislodged, or was malfunctioning. Either way, they were about to lose the kidnappers, and with them, any hope of rescuing the baby.

Undaunted, Ed cast a discerning eye across several lanes of traffic. "I see him," he announced, "they're taking the off-ramp."

"Okay, team," Greg said, "let's take the next exit and look back."

Unfortunately, the 'next exit' was much further down their stretch of road, making a visual search for the silver SUV a very difficult task.

"Team: any eyes on the subject?" Ed queried.

"Negative," Lou reported despondently.

"Winnie, you still trying that number?" Greg asked the dispatcher.

"No answer last four times," she replied.

The SRU sergeant instructed her to keep trying, and also asked if she had any further information about Dornan. The whole team listened as Winnie gave a brief synopsis of what she uncovered regarding Dornan's sorry life; everything from being an orphan to being shuffled from foster home to foster home until he was eighteen.

"Let's keep looking, guys," Greg sighed, all-too-aware that they had probably lost the trail completely.

They'd been driving aimlessly for nearly ten minutes when Winnie finally managed to get through to Jessie's cell phone. When the girl answered, she immediately patched the call through to Greg.

Relieved, Greg once more tried to connect with Jessie on a personal level. "Jessie, hey! It's Greg Parker again. I'm really glad to hear that you're okay…"

In the background, the baby's babbles and squeals could be heard.

"So, where are you?" Greg asked casually.

"We're… we're in… we're safe, okay? We're gonna turn ourselves in; we just need to do this one thing," Jessie answered haltingly.

The baby's squeals took on an irritable edge again, a change not lost on Greg. "Owen's still hungry, huh? How're you coming with that formula?"

"I don't know how to make it," a chagrined Jessie confessed, obviously upset at her own ignorance. "I should _know_ this! What am I doing?"

Greg saw an opportunity to treat the frightened and upset girl with tenderness. He would not allow her to berate herself any longer, and said kindly: "Jessie, you know who was born knowing this stuff? Nobody. Havin' a baby, that's one thing. Taking care of him, honey, that's something else. You can't do it on the run."

"Oh, yeah. Well, if I was a real mother, you know, I would have learnt," the girl emotional girl responded. She was on the verge on tears. "I wouldn't have just… given him up."

The girl's self-recrimination was stark, and Donna felt instant sympathy. _She regrets giving up her child… Not like that other girl who gave her son up to drug dealers and child pornographers in exchange for drugs, _she thought bitterly.

"_Or_," Greg countered, "or you knew what your baby would need, and you made sure he got it, like a real mother would... So, Jessie, why don't you tell me where you are?"

For a moment, the team feared she would not give in. They heard her sigh deeply, and then: "We're at the Northern Dream Park, okay? We're almost done, and then we're coming in downtown."

A thankful Greg said, "Okay, Jessie, just stay on the line-" but the girl cut him off urgently.

"I gotta go!"

The line went dead.

"_Listen, Zeke, thanks for telling me about… you know… that stuff about Wheeler and Babs…" Donna said to the young drug addict, "but right now, I really gotta go grab what I promised I'd get for Babs at that little pharmacy down there in that strip mall."_

"_Oh, yeah!" Zeke said brightly. "Right, right. You want me to buzz off?"_

"_Pretty much," Donna replied, relieved he was getting the message at last._

"_You got it, sister," he said with a grin. He saluted her and wandered off, disappearing into an alleyway to her left. _

_As soon as she was sure he was out of sight and hearing, Donna dug out her cell phone. She dialled Commander Brad McCrimmon's number hurriedly, knowing how vital it was that the team be made aware of the baby's presence. _

_When he answered, she wasted no time. "The team needs to stand down."_

"_What?" McCrimmon sounded perplexed. "Why? What's wrong? Where are you?"_

"_I've had to leave the house. There's been a complicating factor," Donna explained quickly. "There's a baby in there right now. A girl showed up about twenty minutes ago and pretty much sold him for the price of a couple ounces of coke."_

"_Damn," the Vice commander swore. _

"_Commander, there's more…"_

"_What is it?" McCrimmon pressed._

_Donna sucked in a breath, then swallowed to combat the sour taste at the back of her throat. "One of the druggies told me that Wheeler and Babs are into selling internet porn involving minors. Was anyone aware of this side of Wheeler's 'business'?"_

"_No," McCrimmon responded after a thoughtful pause. "But it'll just add to the list of charges we can throw at Wheeler and his gang."_

"_The baby," Donna began slowly, "it's only a few weeks old. Commander, if anything happens to him… The mother just dropped him right into the hands of this terrible woman who has no idea how to care for him. I didn't get a name for her, or the baby. She's clearly a runaway, but the last place her kid should be is in a drug house just when we're planning to bust in there."_

"_I hear you, Sabine," McCrimmon muttered grimly. "Head back there. Do whatever you can to keep the baby safe for now. I'll make sure the guys on surveillance know about the situation. The team will stand down until we can figure out a way to get the baby out of there without tipping our hand. The raid is a no-go for tonight."_

"_Okay," Donna replied, heaving a sigh of relief. "But… Just a heads-up, Commander… I may need to use a 'get-out-of-jail free' card in a few minutes, here."_

"_Why is that?" _

"_Because I'm about to go shopping for some baby supplies," Donna stated, "and I'm going to be employing that old five-finger discount…"_

Of all the places for the kidnappers to flee, the Northern Dream Park was the last one on Donna's mind. It was obvious they weren't thinking straight to begin with, and now they were breaking into an amusement park that was closed for the winter months. What did they hope to do? Run some rides for their own personal enjoyment? Nothing made sense.

Team One pulled into the parking lot without the sirens blaring to announce their presence. The silver BMW was the only other vehicle there, and it was devoid of occupancy. The kidnappers still had to be in the vicinity if they were moving on foot.

Ed called his own number for Sierra One; paired off Spike and Lewis as Alpha team and Donna and Wordy as Bravo team. He directed the Alphas to the west side of the park while the Bravos were to take the east. While this was going on, each officer was grabbing gear from the trucks. Wordy was the first to inquire about lethal and non-lethal tactics.

"Weapons?" the CQB specialist queried.

Ed reasoned that while Terry Dornan might be unarmed, he was violent and unstable. "Tasers if we can," he instructed.

"What about long-range?" Spike put in.

"Rubber bullets," replied the team leader. "That baby is the priority… If he gives us no choice, we do what we gotta do."

"Clear!" Lou stated.

"Clear!" Spike echoed.

Donna, however, felt a sudden uptick in her heart-rate as soon as Ed had spoken those last few words. _If he gives us no choice, we do what we gotta do. _It was a euphemism for 'use lethal force', and it left Donna nervous and unsettled.

With a baby in the mix…

"I don't think-" she raised her voice in protest, neglecting the use of the affirmative response expected of her after receiving an instruction.

Ed shot her a piercing look, and her objection died on her lips. She felt her stomach flip and her heart drop. Here she was, the team rookie, and she'd overstepped her bounds by challenging her TL.

Ed dismissed the others, and turned his attention back to her. "Donna, you got a problem?"

For a moment, she thought she would allow her misplaced indignation to rise to the surface, but instead of digging herself further into the trench she'd already started digging with her first infraction, she bit her tongue and kept her peace. "No, I'm good," she finally replied, averting her glance.

"You sure?" Ed pressed, steely-eyed gaze still pinning her in place.

"Yep," she replied, throwing a mask of dispassionate professionalism on her face to hide the fact that she was still churning inside. Being under Ed's scrutiny like that was an intensely uncomfortable feeling, and Donna was thankful he let the incident go without further questioning.

Had she been more aware of her surroundings, she would have noticed that Greg had observed the entire exchange.

The Alpha-Bravo teams went their separate ways, covering the park on foot. Donna jogged with Wordy past empty rides and snow-covered foliage, grateful they were conducting the search while the place was closed. Had the park been open for business, their chances of finding the kidnappers and the baby would have been considerably more difficult with hundreds of families with children and babies milling about the place.

"There's nothing in quadrant E2," Donna reported to Greg, as she and Wordy dashed along their chosen pathway.

"_No dice at W4_," Spike commented.

"Need a better vantage point," Ed stated, as he scaled the metal stairs of one of the rides. "Sierra One, in position. No sign… Hold on, hold on… At the carousel! Bravo team, that's closest to you."

Immediately, Donna turned towards the ride in question. "There it is," she said quietly, pointing to it. She and Wordsworth softened their footfalls and crouched so as to be as stealthy as possible in their approach.

"Alpha team, what's your approach?_"_ asked Ed.

"_Alpha team's on the move, but we're far!"_ Spike answered ruefully.

Donna and Wordy watched the pair of kidnappers for a few moments, trying to stay concealed while narrowing the gap between them and the carousel, when Ed's tense voice came over the comm: "He's escalating; he's got the baby."

Inexplicably, Dornan fled from the carousel with the baby, leaving Jessie behind even as she cried out for him to return. The young man hurried down one of the wet, icy paths, splashing slushy water as he ran. He paused momentarily to take quick note of his bearings, and in doing so, caught sight of Wordy and Donna.

"He's seen us," Donna said, moving out of their 'hiding spot' now that it was pointless to remain hidden.

"Cover's blown; we're in pursuit!" Wordy announced to the rest of the team, letting them know that they no longer had the element of surprise.

"_I want my phone call," Donna-as-Melinda demanded, raising her voice to obnoxiously high levels. "I know I'm supposed to get a phone call!"_

_The pudgy, balding, plainclothes store security guy folded his arms across his chest and rolled his eyes. "You don't get anything until I say you do, missy. You're just gonna sit right here until the cops come. You can ask them for a phone call."_

_Donna let out a loud noise showing her exasperation. She squirmed in the uncomfortable, plastic chair inside the cubby-hole of a room that was used to hold people caught stealing from the pharmacy. "Okay, yeah, so I grabbed a bunch of stuff. But I was gonna pay for it… eventually. Look, mister," she said, taking a conciliatory tone, "you see the kinda stuff I was taking offa the shelf, right? Pampers and baby formula. That's all."_

"_I don't give a shit what you were taking, sweet cheeks," the security guard growled back, "you didn't pay for it. In this country, that's called 'shoplifting'."_

"_You're pretty heartless, you know that?" Donna said accusingly. "Y'think I was taking that stuff for me? That I like eating baby formula? Or- or that I need diapers? Are you that brainless? There's a _baby_ out there, and he's filthy and his mama's not comin' back for him, so he needs food."_

_There was a slight shift in the guard's demeanour. His expression softened slightly, but hardened again a second later. "Honey, I've heard all kinds of sob stories before; real heart-breakers. Don't change the fact that you broke the law. If there's a baby that's needing diapers and food, well you can tell the cops all about 'im when they come and get you. Now you just sit right there like a good girl while I go make sure they're on their way."_

_The man left the tiny room, and Donna stuck out her tongue at his retreating form for good measure. She just hoped he really _was_ calling the police. Donna knew that the longer she sat there waiting, the longer the baby was going to be at the mercy of Babs and Wheeler, and God knew what else. She shuddered involuntarily as she recalled what Zeke told her…_

From his vantage point, Ed issued a few clipped commands to his team: "Wordy: on the girl; Donna: follow the male; Spike and Lou: get to the carousel!"

Wordy and Donna jumped into action. "I got him!" Donna declared, rushing after the fleeing Dornan.

"You got him?" Wordy confirmed as he saw Donna chase after the youth, and said, "splitting up!" as he changed direction to get to Jessie.

Donna heard the girl call out Terry's name again as she ran; heard Wordy order Jessie to stay where she was, in spite of her protests that she go after him. Seconds later, Lou and Spike made it to Wordy and Jessie. They tried to calm her while Lou told Wordy to go with Donna in her pursuit of Terry and the baby.

_When is that store security guy going to bring the real cops in? Donna thought to herself. She'd been sitting for half an hour already; the clock mounted on the dingy wall told her as much. The second hand kept ticking by noisily, and she wondered if the rent-a-cop had forgotten about her. He'd confiscated her cell phone, so there was no chance she could call her commander to speed up the process. _

_Ten minutes later, Donna heard the sound of sirens, muted through the walls of the store. She counted several emergency response vehicles: police, fire and ambulance. Something big was evidently happening in the neighbourhood. She allowed another half-hour of waiting to tick by, but anxious to get back to the house for the sake of the infant, Donna started banging a fist on the locked door._

"_Hey, come on! Lemme outta here," she called. "What's taking so long? You can't hold me here forever; it's a violation of my human rights! Lemme out!"_

_She kept up an insistent knocking, knowing that the noise would eventually grab someone's attention._

"Donna, wait on my go_,_" Ed instructed, as she trailed the youth through a chain-link gate and enclosure that led to the roller-coaster ride. She complied and watched Terry continue to race for the stairs. As she stood waiting, she listened to the following exchange between her sergeant and her team leader, something she would remember for a long time afterwards:

"Boss, he's headed for the stairs and he's got the baby," Ed advised Greg, following every move through the scope of his weapon.

"Eddie, stop him!" came Greg's breathless command.

"He's too far to 'tase'," warned Ed, knowing the Taser's range would be woefully short from his location.

"Then go lethal!"

"Rubber bullets?"

"That might not do it, Ed! If he makes it up there, that baby could die!"

At these words, Donna went down on one knee to steady herself to take aim at Dornan.

"Copy that," Ed said. "I don't have a clear shot."

Donna brought up her weapon and tried to frame Terry in her sights.

"Sabine, do you have the solution?"

For a couple seconds, the young man carrying the infant filled her field of vision. She saw a flash of his blond hair and the hood of the baby's blanket.

_Innocent infant._

"Sabine, you have 'Scorpio'," she heard Ed say, "take the shot."

_The baby,_ she thought desperately, _what if I hit the baby?_

Nevertheless, she brought her MP5 up again, but saw Dornan slip past her range.

"Negative," she said shakily, "no solution." Part of her was relieved at the lost opportunity, while the other part warned that the lost opportunity might be costly.

Donna rose from her position to continue on foot after Dornan.

"The baby's in jeopardy. He's going up the 'coaster, but he can't go anywhere once he's reached the top," Ed said of Dornan, who truly was scaling the stairs up the ride.

"Yes he can," Greg interjected, still sounding out-of-breath. "He can go the way his father went, Ed: he can jump!"

_Oh, no!_ Donna felt her gut react to Greg's words by clenching painfully. She didn't want to think that Dornan would actually jump _with_ the baby… A fall from the top of the roller coaster would surely kill them both. She poured on the speed and heard Wordy not far behind. She _had_ to catch up to the suicidal young man before he had a chance to harm the infant.

"Donna; Wordy, wait on my lead!" Greg commanded.

"Copy!" Donna called in reply as she ran.

"Copy," echoed Wordsworth.

Donna reached the base of the steps first. Above her, Terry Dornan continued his ascent, determined to reach the top. She began to follow but stopped on the first landing to wait for Greg. He reached her position seconds later, and she let him slide past her in order to try to make contact with Terry.

"_I've been waiting here forever! Come on!" Donna shouted vainly. She kicked at the door in frustration. _

_Finally, her persistence was rewarded. She heard the jingling of a keychain. "Hold your horses, I'm coming," the rent-a-cop muttered. "Geez, you don't know how to shut up, do you?"_

"_What took you so long?" Donna seethed when the door opened. "I coulda been choking to death in here, y'know."_

"_Shut your trap," the store cop snapped. "I was distracted. Big fire down the road. Can't say I'm sorry to see it go up in flames. Good riddance to crack houses!"_

_It took every ounce of control Donna possessed not to react to the man's words. Every nerve was on edge as she contemplated what could have gone wrong in the time she left the house to the time she was caught shoplifting. Did everyone get out of the house? Would there be any useable evidence left for her team to recover? Most of all, was the baby okay? _

"_Oh, so that's what all those sirens were about, huh?" she ventured to ask, coolly masking her distress at the fact her drug case had just literally gone up in smoke._

"_Yeah," the store detective replied. "That's why the cops are a little too busy to deal with you right now, see? They probably got druggies crawlin' out of that hellhole to arrest."_

"_How much longer are you gonna keep me here?" Donna groused loudly. "Come on, man. At least let me make a phone call, will ya? I want my cell phone back. It's mine; you had no right to take it."_

_The man contemplated for a few seconds, and finally dug into his pocket. "Fine," he muttered, shoving the device into her waiting hand. "Maybe you'll even call someone who cares!"_

_After asking for privacy, which was grudgingly granted, Donna quickly called Commander McCrimmon…_

The debrief was agonizing, made worse when Donna saw the look of accusation mixed with disapproval on Ed's face, a look he channeled straight towards her. Greg had just finished recounting her failure to take the shot when she had been ordered to. When given the opportunity to speak up about it, Donna kept her silence, choosing to maintain that she never had the shot in the first place. But seeing Ed's reaction – knowing he was disappointed in her performance – sent her into an uncomfortable place of self-doubt and recrimination. Baby Liam was safe, yes, but Terry Dornan was dead. Had Greg not taken hold of the baby before the young man's final run at the pinnacle of the roller coaster…

_Another half-hour elapsed before a pair of uniformed officers showed up at the pharmacy to 'arrest' Donna after she reached her commanding officer._

"_It's about time you showed up," the store detective complained to the pair of cops. "I caught her trying to make off with all this stuff." He gestured to the couple tins of baby formula and the package of diapers on a shelf in the room. _

"_Yeah, we'll take it from here," one of the officers named Fulton said dismissively. "Thanks for the tip. We'll make sure she gets booked on charges of petty theft. Good afternoon to you."_

_Donna obediently put her hands behind her back while Fulton handcuffed her and led her out of the room to a police van in the parking lot. Waiting inside was a grim-faced Commander McCrimmon. He waited until Constable Fulton removed the cuffs before speaking._

"_Are you okay?" he asked._

"_Yeah, fine," Donna answered anxiously. "What the hell happened to the drug house?"_

"_We're not quite sure, yet," McCrimmon replied. "Our surveillance guys – Quinn and Epstein – they say that the young mother went back to the house soon after you left. A few minutes after she entered the house, a commotion was heard. Shouts; breaking glass, that sort of thing."_

"_And then?" Donna pressed him to finish._

_McCrimmon sighed. "Then they reported screaming, and smoke started filling the living room. Three people fled the house, but by the time our guys had called the fire department and backup, the place was an inferno."_

"_Brad…" Donna started slowly, using his first name so he would know she was no longer in professional mode, "the baby… what about the baby?"_

_The commander shook his head. "When Quinn and Epstein saw the three people flee, they knew the girl and baby were still inside. Even with the smoke and fire, those guys still went inside that blaze to see what they could find. It was all very rushed, but they say they saw the young mother on the floor, out cold. Quinn scooped her up and brought her outside. Epstein found the infant… But… by then, it was too late."_

_Donna felt her jaw clenching. Fury built up inside her like a geyser waiting to break the surface, and she wanted to slam her fists into the side on the van. For several long minutes, she didn't know what to do or say. Eventually, she composed herself._

"_Are Quinn and Epstein okay?"_

"_They're fine. Minimal smoke inhalation," McCrimmon responded. "Nothing to worry about."_

"_And the three who escaped the fire? Babs, Wheeler and Monty?"_

"_Yeah," McCrimmon affirmed. "They didn't manage to get too far. Found 'em holed up in another of Wheeler's places. We'll get to the bottom of what happened once they've been processed."_

"_Good," Donna said, though her voice was low and bitter. She felt no elation over the news that the drug dealer and his associates had been apprehended. Her heart was still too raw over the senseless death of the infant. Without warning, her eyes clouded, and she swiped at the tear that escaped down her cheek._

"_Hey, what's wrong?" McCrimmon asked, somewhat mortified by this display of emotion._

"_Nothing," Donna responded in a hollow tone, all the while knowing she was _not_ at all fine, but she wasn't about to reveal that to the veteran cop in front of her._

"_Er, what you told me about Wheeler and Babs… that intel about their 'extra-curricular' activities…" McCrimmon ventured._

"_What about it?" _

_McCrimmon shifted uncomfortably. "Epstein said he also spotted a smashed-up laptop and one of those web cameras when he went inside… Um… and when he found the infant and carried him out, he saw burns on the body."_

"_Burns? From the fire?" Donna gasped, thoroughly horrified._

_McCrimmon shook his head once. "Um… the coroner will need to confirm, but… Epstein says they looked like cigarette burns..."_

For a long time after the debriefing, Donna sat forlornly in the locker-room, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her mind kept alternating between memories of the lost infant from that long-ago case and Ed Lane's words when he called her to task for her failure to take out Terry Dornan.

"_The only thing more dangerous than a cop who shoots too fast is a cop who can't shoot when they need to," Ed had stated, his penetrating gaze cutting through her like a laser. "Now, you had the shot, and I saw it."_

_Still grief-stricken, Donna remained defensive about her inaction. "You saw it?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_Well, where were you, then?" she asked him indignantly. "Because where I was? I was pointing a gun at a scared kid with a _baby_ in his hands!"_

_She took in a shaky breath, and Ed, realising she was on edge emotionally, eased up on the pressure by a fraction. His voice was not as hard when he spoke again: "We got an order-"_

"_You _questioned_ the order!" Donna reminded him in a harsh whisper._

"_Yeah, I did," Ed admitted, "but the boss had information we didn't have. Now, I asked a question, and then I did my job, like a member of this team is supposed to, alright?"_

_He looked at her intently, and Donna again felt pinned down._

"_Are you a member of this team?" he asked._

_She took a few moments before answering, because she knew a weed of discontent had sprung up, and it was choking off the response she knew she had to make. She knew her response needed to be an emphatic "yes". Not just to save face, or to prove she still had the skills to do the job, but because she had to remind herself that in spite of the nature of the job and all the unforeseen complications, she _needed_ to be on this team, and the team needed her. _

"_Yes," she finally replied, assured that her answer was genuine._

_Ed sighed in relief, seeing the truth in her answer. "That's good."_

"_Does this job get any easier?" she asked miserably, a pained expression etched on her tired face._

_With a single shake of his head, Ed answered simply and honestly: "No."_

_After that, she departed for the locker room, not seeing that Greg Parker had been observing the exchange._

Donna waited until she was sure everyone from Team One had gone home before she herself made a move. The dispatcher named Ben was on the late shift, and she gave a half-hearted wave as she passed by the desk on her way out. She thought about baby Liam and how he had been reunited with his parents. His birth mother, Jessie, in spite of how much she had wanted to be with him and had tried to be protective of him, would be facing charges in relation to her actions that day.

_And some babies don't even _get_ names, much less a happy ending,_ she mused sadly on her drive to her apartment. The baby who had died in the fire had indeed been nameless, and coroner who performed the autopsy had also been able to confirm that the burns found on him had been deliberately caused.

Donna gripped the steering wheel tightly, all the while knowing it was particularly pointless to rehash the old tragedy. Still, the newspapers at the time used the case as an example of the failure of authorities to 'take a bite out of crime'; how more innocent lives would be lost unless drastic changes were made.

_I sat there and watched a teenager give up her child for drugs. I let it happen, all because I wasn't supposed to blow my cover. The ends were supposed to justify the means. I wanted to quit so badly after that case… And now, today's case had to go and dredge up all those old, awful memories…_

The clock on the dashboard read 7:58 PM. It suddenly occurred to Donna that it was Wednesday night.

"Ballroom Blitz," she said aloud, remembering the dance class from the week before. If she hurried, she reasoned could still make it for most of the lesson. _Maybe that nice guy – Hank – will be there,_ she thought, and felt decidedly cheered at the notion she might see him again.

_There's something about him_, Donna thought. She was surprised by the strong pull of emotion she felt when she realised she would actually be terribly disappointed if he was _not_ there.

She pulled into the parking lot of the community centre and screeched to a halt. By then, it was twenty minutes past the hour. Nevertheless, Donna dashed through the doors and practically threw her admission fee at Mary, the same volunteer she'd met a week ago.

"Thanks!" Mary called after her. "Have fun, now!"

Donna didn't pause to reply or to take another one of the stick-on name labels.

_You're going to feel pretty stupid for running in here if Hank didn't come tonight, you idiot_, Donna's inner voice mocked. Music was wafting from the gym: a lively jazz piece that caused her to think that tonight's lesson might be something swing-related. She pushed open the doors as quietly as possible and took in the dancers on the floor.

Doris and Lance, the instructors, were giving individual attention to struggling couples on whatever dance steps they'd been taught earlier in the evening.

Initially, Donna did not see Hank. Scanning the room further, she caught sight of two men in the far left corner who were laughing at something one of them had done. She recognized them instantly: Hank and Pete.

_He _did_ come tonight! _An unconscious smile tugged at her mouth as she watched the pair of friends set up again to repeat the dance steps they had been shown.

The music was still playing, and it was evident to Donna that there was an even number of dancers tonight. Instead of interrupting the proceedings, she chose to take a seat and merely observe for the time being. Everyone was too absorbed in what they were doing to have noticed her arrival, anyway, and she quite frankly didn't mind the down time. She kept her eyes on Hank and Pete, and marvelled at how naturally the steps seemed to come to Hank. Pete, on the other hand, seemed to be cursed with a lack of coordination on his feet.

Presently, the song ended, and all the participants broke apart.

"Good job, everyone," Doris commended. "I think you're all coming along splendidly with the basics of the East Coast Swing. Now, we're going to show you how to vary the steps a little…"

Donna watched from her seat as the instructors counted the _slow-slow-quick-quick_ basic steps into a clockwise rotation, and back to the basic steps once more.

"Think you can do it? I know you can!" Lance called out. "Let's see you all try."

The dancers paired up again, and the music played. Donna's eyes never left Hank, and she saw how patient he was with Pete's mistakes; how he encouraged him, and how he kept a positive attitude even when Pete got frustrated.

"When did _you_ sneak in here, 'Ginger'?"

Donna started. She'd been so focused on Hank and Pete's progress, she hadn't noticed that Doris spotted her.

"Oh, just a few minutes ago," Donna replied, and smiled shyly at the other woman.

"No partner again, tonight?" she asked.

"Not tonight," Donna answered. "It's okay; I think I'll just… watch tonight."

Doris took a quick glance towards the left, following Donna's line of sight.

"Mm-hmm," she said, turning back with a wink of comprehension and a grin. "I see… Well, enjoy the 'view', then!"

Donna felt herself blush briefly as Doris hurried off to assist another couple.

Twenty minutes later, the lesson came to a close. Lance and Doris gave all the attendees some final encouragement, and then bid them goodnight, with the hope that they return for more 'Ballroom Blitz' the following week.

Several people, singles and couples alike began collecting their jackets and other belongings from their chairs. They filed past Donna through the gym doors, chatting away about how much fun the evening had been.

Hank and Pete were among the last to leave, and Donna stood up as they neared the gym's exit. Immediately, Hank broke into a smile as he saw her.

"Donna!" he said, beaming. "I didn't think you were going to come tonight."

"I was late," she said ruefully.

"Well, it's good to see you," Hank added. "You remember my buddy, Pete, right?"

Donna smiled at the other man. "Of course. Nice to see you again, Pete," she said kindly. "Think you'll be dance-floor-ready for your sister's wedding? Hank looks like he's a great coach."

"Ehhh…" Pete hedged. "I'll never be a pro, but I think I'll be able to fake it enough to fool the rest of the guests."

"You know, you could have cut in," Hank said to Donna. "Pete got way more attention from me tonight than he deserved… and you wouldn't have stepped on my toes."

"Ouch," Pete said, pretending to be hurt by his friend's 'insult'.

"Thanks for that," Donna said, "but I had a long day, running around and chasing down bad guys. It was actually nice to just sit and watch the action for a change."

"Sorry you had a rough day," Hank commented. "Listen, I know you barely know us, but Pete and I were going to grab a drink tonight; would you like to come with us?"

Donna paused for a moment. After the kind of day she'd experienced, she told herself she definitely deserved the outing… _And it would certainly give you an opportunity to get to know Hank better,_ she thought.

"Yes, alright," she answered, warmed by the delighted reaction she read on Hank's face.

_Hmmm, _she thought, as the three of them exited, _I could get used to a face like that… Who knows where this could lead?_


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Wow, it's been far too long since I updated. I admit to encountering some serious Writer's Block with this one. I guess the series finale put more of a damper on my plans than I thought. Extreme thanks go out to Andorian for pushing me to continue this; I wouldn't have updated at this moment if not for her prodding. This chapter hopefully advances where things should be going with Donna and Hank; it's by no means the end of the story. Hope you enjoy, and I apologize for making you all wait for so long.**

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><p><strong>Chapter XIV<strong>

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><p>"You guys come here often?" Donna asked Hank and Pete, when there was a lull in the live music being played by the house band. The three of them were seated in one of the booths inside the Ladybird Lounge, and Donna had to admit to being slightly surprised when Pete told her the jazz and blues bar would be their destination when they left the dance lesson.<p>

"Every so often," Pete replied.

"Pete really likes the music," Hank said by way of explanation. "He even plays the trumpet on occasion."

"Here?" asked Donna, turning slightly and gesturing to the stage.

"Open-mike night, sometimes," Pete said with a brief nod, and took a swig of his beer.

"Good for you," Donna said, appearing suitably impressed. "I never learned to play an instrument."

"I grew up on jazz," Pete continued, feeling the need to elaborate. "All my friends would tease 'cause I was listening to guys like Miles Davis, Chet Baker, Dizzy Gillespie, and Herb Alpert, while they were listening to rock, heavy metal, country, and rap. I blame my dad, really; he's a big jazz fan and that's all he played in the house when I was growing up. As a kid, I had two choices: learn to love it and bond with him, or hate it and be disowned."

Donna chuckled. "And you chose the former. My dad didn't really play a lot of music when I was a child. It was mostly just what was on the radio in the car; Top 40 hits and such. I sort of just went with what was popular. I'm really not very musical."

"Well, what do you think of a place like this?" Pete asked nodding to the bandstand as the ensemble started up again. "I know jazz isn't for everyone..."

Donna noted his concern and gave an indulgent smile. "I don't mind jazz at all," she answered honestly. "I can appreciate the how it has all these different shades. It can be bright and upbeat, but it can also be dark and slow and contemplative, with everything in-between. I'm sure you could find a suitable jazz piece for whatever mood you're in."

"Bingo," Pete said enthusiastically. He grinned across the table at Hank. "I like this woman! Without even growing up with the stuff, she _gets_ it."

"What about you, Hank?" Donna asked glancing to her left, wanting to shift the focus from herself to someone else. "Do you play an instrument?"

"I can play the piano a little." Hank gave a small, self-effacing shrug.

Pete made a snorting noise and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure," he said, feeling compelled to toot Hank's horn for him. "Donna, this guy's amazing. You should hear him."

Hank merely smiled and took a sip of his drink, choosing not to qualify Pete's ringing endorsement.

"So you can dance _and_ play the piano?" Donna said in awed tones, playing up the moment. "What else can you do?"

"Well, let's see," Hank answered with a shy smile, reading the jesting tone perfectly. "I can wiggle my ears, recite the alphabet backwards, and make the 'live long and prosper' Vulcan sign, like Mr. Spock."

To prove his last point, Hank held up his hand and joined his fingers to form a perfect 'V', cocking one eyebrow in his best imitation of Spock.

At this, Pete held up his own two hands and tried to form the well-known _Star Trek_ character's gesture, but met with little success. He frowned at his inability to keep the correct fingers together for any length of time. "How d'you do that, anyway?" he asked, looking up at Hank with a puzzled expression.

"Never mind," Hank said with a grin. "Clearly, it's a skill reserved for a select, talented few."

"Gee, thanks, buddy," Pete grumbled, "you're such a pal."

Donna smiled at the good-natured ribbing she was witnessing. Hank and Pete's friendship was obviously a very comfortable one. "So, how long have you two been such close pals?" She ventured to ask.

"Oh, boy…" Hank started, frowning in mock concentration, "a long time."

"Since we were kids," Pete put in.

"Right," Hank said. "We lived in the same neighbourhood, but didn't really get to know each other until we were in the same homeroom in grade 4."

"Wow, grade 4? You've known each other that long?" Donna asked. "That's great that you've managed to stay friends for all these years."

"Yeah…" Hank said as his face became reflective. "We've been through a lot together."

Pete simply nodded, but added nothing more. He merely lowered his eyes and took another swallow of his beer.

Donna looked between the two men, sensing a subtle shift in the mood. She was somewhat disquieted by their sudden silence as neither of them seemed too eager to continue the discussion about their childhood.

_Did I say something wrong_? She wondered. _Something's going on beneath the surface that I've missed…_

"I'm not probing too deeply, am I, guys?" she queried.

This caused Hank to perk up slightly. "Oh, no," he said apologetically, "nothing like that…"

Pete was quick to agree. "Yeah, no worries, Donna; we were just… you know…"

"We were probably both just thinking about stuff…" Hank added. "Pete's my best buddy; he's been there for me through thick and thin, good times and bad."

"I see," Donna said, nodding in a desperate attempt to show that she didn't want to prolong the obvious discomfort that had stifled the discussion. Some event from their shared past had clearly made both men suddenly morose, and it had nothing to do with the bluesy tune presently being played by the house band. Wanting to salvage the dying conversation, she switched gears.

"Hank, you mentioned you're in I.T., right?" she asked, taking a sip of her beer.

"Yeah," he answered brightly, seemingly relieved to be back in safe conversational territory. "Both Pete and I. We work for the same company and everything."

"CP Information Processing," Pete interjected. "We even got our computer engineering degrees at the U of T together, too."

"You guys sound like quite the inseparable pair," Donna said. _I wish I could still say the same about me and Bill…_

Pete and Hank clanked their beer bottles together as a show of their friendship and both took a long draught.

There was another lull in the music as the band was taking a break between sets, and Donna's attention idly turned to the bar. She was drawn to a man and a woman who were making preparations to leave together. Instantly, she recognized the man with his generous gut, jowly face and dark brown hair. _Judge Jonathan Hopkins, _thought Donna, recalling the last time she'd been in this very lounge. The woman he was with, however, was unfamiliar. The judge's date looked to be about fifty-five, ash-blonde, and fashionably dressed.

A small smile pulled at Donna's mouth as she watched Jon help the woman put on her coat and rest a supporting hand on her back while they ambled to the exit. _Looks like he's gotten past his loneliness_, Donna mused, and swallowed the remainder of her beer.

"Want another?" Hank asked, noticing she'd finished.

"Oh, no," Donna replied. "I'm one-and-done when I'm driving—and when I have to work in the morning."

"That's a good habit," Hank stated.

"Yes, it is," Donna confirmed. "I know too many people who've let alcohol come between them and their jobs and families. I don't want that to be me."

"I bet it's tough," Pete said, joining the discussion. "Being a cop and all…"

Donna shrugged. "Some things are tough. But like any job, there are good parts and bad parts. You just try to get through the bad stuff the best you can when it happens."

Hank shoved his now empty bottle aside. "Does the 'bad stuff' happen very often?" he asked carefully, sending her a look that was surprisingly full of compassion. "I just thought that since you had a rough day today something bad might have happened… I mean, you didn't want to interrupt the dance lesson tonight, and you seemed kind of down…"

Touched by his concern, Donna let down her guard a little. "Today wasn't a _great_ day, to be honest," she answered. "I can't give you any details about what happened, of course; what goes on with my job is mostly confidential."

"I understand that," Hank said. "You don't have to tell me anything you're not comfortable telling me."

"My day started off fine," Donna continued, deciding she would tell a little of what had happened to account for her own sullen mood Hank had so rightly intuited. "We served some warrants, arrested some bad guys, and went on patrol. That's pretty standard fare, and it's always good to start the day by getting some of the scum off the streets."

"Absolutely," Pete commented agreeably, while Hank nodded.

"But then, we got a call involving the abduction of an infant," Donna sighed, uncomfortably remembering how she had very nearly rammed the fleeing SUV in their pursuit of the home invaders and kidnappers, Terry Dornan and Jessie Wyeth. The impact she imagined could have had catastrophic consequences for the infant inside. She squirmed uneasily in her seat, thinking of how Dornan had then scaled the tower with baby Liam in his arms, and of how Ed had later berated her for failing to take the shot when she had it.

"Did you get the baby back?" Hank asked tentatively.

Realising she'd paused in her re-telling of the story, Donna quickly replied that they had. "Yes, yes, he's safe. He's back with his parents…"

"Sounds like a win to me," Hank commented, frowning at the prospect that Donna still seemed unsettled.

"In the long run, it is," Donna said, "but how it went down, it's… complicated. Again, I'm not really at liberty to discuss the details, but things could have been better._ I_ could have done better."

"I'm sure you did your best, Donna," Hank said, feeling the need to offer some words of consolation.

"I—I thought I did," she uttered ruefully. "At the time, I thought I did. My team leader had a different assessment. And he's right. As a part of that team, I'm still learning I need to follow orders before I make my own judgments. I guess I'm too used to just relying on me and my partner. Well, ex-partner..."

"So how does that work? Don't most cops work with a partner?" Hank asked.

"Depends on which department you're with," Donna replied. "I was partnered with other cops when I was a beat cop—I had a few over the years. Then, I was also partnered with someone for a time when I was in Vice. I'm with the Strategic Response Unit now, which is a team-based unit. We don't have partners per se, but we're often paired up during calls for reconnaissance and things like that. But it's not a 'partnership' that's set in stone."

"I see," Hank said slowly. "So you're with the SRU, huh? That's like S.W.A.T., right?"

"Mm-hmm. S.W.A.T., with a difference," Donna explained. "It's not like in the movies where we go in, guns blazing. We try to keep deadly force to a minimum. 'Talk before tactics' is our mandate."

"Okay, I'm dying to ask," Pete said, "but I've heard most cops never even have to draw their weapons throughout their entire careers…"

He stalled for a moment, possibly weighing whether or not it was appropriate to ask what he wanted to ask her. Donna sensed what was coming, because it tended to be one of the first questions she was asked once people discovered she was in law enforcement.

"So… Did you… ever have to… y'know… shoot someone?" Pete finally ground out.

"You know I would never actually tell you that," Donna chided. "I _will_ say that we are authorized to use lethal force, and do sometimes find ourselves in those difficult positions where it might be necessary… It's not an _ideal_ situation, but…"

"But there's got to be times when someone's just so rotten you just want to pull the trigger, right?" Pete asked.

"Sometimes, yes," Donna answered, and quashed the recollection of how upset she'd been at having to protect Peter Wilkins not so long ago. "There are people out there who probably don't deserve to live for the vile things they've done, or what they may be about to do. But being put in a position where I might have to kill them? It's not something I would ever wish on anybody. The psychological and emotional effects are very—can be very difficult to handle. We're talking about a human life, and uh… That's never… easy..."

"I can't even imagine," Hank said with a shake of his head. "I guess everyone knows that a cop's job is risky and dangerous, but SRU sounds like it's even more risky and dangerous than usual."

Donna pouted. "Yeah, we do take all the hostage calls and gun calls, which I suppose are inherently more dangerous than the mundane stuff, but remember any call always has the potential to escalate into something more deadly. You _cannot_ assume just because something starts out simple and risk-free that it's going to stay that way. That's the kind of thinking that gets cops killed."

A pensive look came over Hank. "Have _you_ ever been shot?" he asked carefully, anxious of the answer he might receive.

"Never," Donna said emphatically. "I've been shot _at_, but never actually shot."

Hank sighed in relief. "Good," he said.

"Oh, but I have been spat on, peed on, puked on, scratched, bitten, slapped, punched, kicked, slashed, and stabbed," Donna added.

Both Hank and Pete's eyes went wide.

"All right, I was just kidding with the stabbed part," she said with a laugh. "But I have had goons come at me with a knife on several occasions. You do your best to disarm those threats as quickly as possible. Knives can be just as deadly as guns, if not more so. In the time it takes you to pull your weapon, aim, and fire, a perp with a knife could already be on top of you, striking a deadly blow."

"Geez," Pete said, shaking his head. "That's messed up."

"Par for the course," Donna said. "That's what the extensive training is for: to make sure you know how to stay alive and defend yourself—and others—when the threats are high."

"My girlfriend, Kelley, could probably relate a tiny bit—without the crazy psycho criminals, though," Pete commented.

"Oh? What does she do?" asked Donna.

"She's a nurse," replied Pete. "So she also gets spat on, peed on, puked on, scratched, bitten, slapped, punched, and kicked."

"Yeah, I don't think I could be able to do that job," Donna remarked with a wry twist of her mouth.

"Well, you're both in the business of helping people and saving lives," Pete said. "You just do it in different ways."

"Very true," Donna said.

"She was actually supposed to join us here tonight," Pete said wistfully, taking a glance at his watch. "I guess something must have happened to make her work overtime."

"Ah, something _else_ I have in common with her," said Donna. "My work hours aren't exactly the most predictable. I mean, technically, we're supposed to be on duty for twelve hours. A standoff with an armed piece of scum can quickly change that; scratch any plans you might have had for your evening."

"I don't think I could ever get used to that," Hank said.

"Some people never do," Donna remarked. "It can be so hard on relationships and family life when it seems like you're always away… anyhow, I don't want to bore you with the less-than-appealing parts of my job."

"Nah, that's okay," Hank said kindly. "It's nice to get to know a little bit more about what you do. Makes me appreciate even more the job police officers have to do every day."

"Well, on that note, I should probably go," Donna said after glancing at her watch. "We're on duty days right now, and I have to be up for the 5 a.m. workout. It was very nice chatting with you guys."

The two men politely stood as Donna did, and bid her good-bye as she exited the booth.

"See you next week at the dance lesson?" Hank asked hopefully.

Donna stopped to consider. She turned back to him and saw that he genuinely meant his question. "If I'm not held back by something, yes; I'll be there."

Hank's smile was wide. "Great!" he said happily. "See you then."

"See you then," she echoed, and exited the lounge.

On the drive home, Donna considered how easy-going things had been talking with Hank and Pete. It felt comfortable and stress-free, and she readily admitted she enjoyed the evening after facing the rotten call earlier, and Ed's scorn.

_Okay, so I deserved Ed's beat-down,_ she thought. _I shouldn't have questioned Greg's instructions. But the baby is alive, and unharmed. Ed said with this job I have to learn to live with my decisions, didn't he? And not taking that shot at Dornan while he had the baby in his hands? That's a decision I _can_ live with._

She stopped at a red light and pondered the moment she noticed Judge Jonathan Hopkins and his lady friend. Donna smiled again at the recollection. Hopkins hadn't seemed at all depressed or down in the dumps as he had when she was working undercover as 'Melinda'.

_Being alone is the pits_, he'd said to her then.

Hank's face loomed in Donna's mind. _What a nice guy,_ she thought, not for the first time. He was absolutely nothing like the men she worked with or had tried to date in the past, before the Vice job consumed her life; before policing, in general, had consumed her life.

_Is this all I am?_ She wondered.

_Am I going to be alone, "married" to the job for the rest of my life?_

_I don't want to be alone anymore. I want what Ed has; what Wordy has. I want to love somebody and be loved in return. I want to be more than just a career cop._

_Hank seems interested... perhaps that's a place to start._

But even as she was thinking this, the old, nagging worry returned. _But the hours I work… the crazy shifts… the stress… is it fair to subject someone to that? Someone who maybe expects to come home to his wife every night after work?_

_Stop it,_ she thought vehemently, realising she was only hearing Bill's voice in her head again. _I won't let Bill's poor choices colour my life any more._

The light turned green, and Donna proceeded through it, convinced that she would make a serious effort to make it to next week's dance lesson. Only this time, it wouldn't be about entertaining a hobby.

* * *

><p>TBC<p> 


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: I had hoped this chapter would tackle the events of _Remote Control_, but I decided jumping to that episode right away would not provide enough opportunity to really cement the growing friendship and trust between Donna and Ed. So, more platonic, professional bonding for them, and more team stuff. I also really, really wanted to address the ongoing negativity between Sam and Donna that was never resolved in the Show. Furthermore, I wanted to plant the seeds of an explanation for why the Teams suddenly went from seven members to six (something else that never received a canon explanation). **

**This chapter will definitely reference canon events, but the call Team One responds to is all my invention, so don't go thinking you missed an episode somewhere. Chronologically, it would take place between _The Perfect Family_ and _Remote Control._ I hope you enjoy.**

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><p><strong>Kill Bill<strong>

**Chapter XV**

* * *

><p>Morning came too swiftly for Donna's liking, but she nevertheless got out of bed and went through her typical morning routine before heading to work. Traffic was predictably light at this early hour; the winter sun was not ready to show its face, either. Donna yawned loudly as she stopped at one traffic light, thinking that a few more hours in bed would have been glorious.<p>

_Better get used to this,_ she warned herself. _You knew coming in to SRU that you'd have to work crappy hours._ Shift work had definitely not been part of her pattern while working deep undercover in Vice; getting back into a routine was going to take more time than she realised.

At the barn, she shrugged into a sweater and workout pants, tied on her sneakers and grabbed her water bottle for the pre-shift exercise routine. Greg, Spike, Ed, Lou, and Wordy had also just ambled out of their change room, and they all exchanged nods that communicated "Good morning" and "How's it going" to each other without actually having to verbalise the words.

Donna glanced over at Ed as he took up a position on the treadmill. He punched in his preferred start-up speed and settled into an easy warm-up lope. She remembered how he'd chastised her the day before and she felt her stomach flop. The last thing she'd wanted to do was let him or the team down. If Ed was still ticked off at her over her failure to completely follow orders, Donna saw no indication of it on her team leader's face as their eyes met briefly. He merely blinked at her and lifted his chin slightly to acknowledge her, and then he went back to concentrating on his running pace.

Before long, the workout period was over and the team was back in uniform, sitting in one of the debrief rooms to review their plans for the day. Greg was at the front of the room as usual. "Our F.O.R.T. friends sent a few words of grateful thanks for the assistance we were able to lend yesterday," he announced with a smile. "As you know, we made a total of eight arrests, and they're pretty confident over there that they'll be able to make a majority of those illegal firearms charges stick. Their commanding officer told me to give ourselves a pat on the back."

Donna felt a few hearty pats land on her left shoulder. She didn't even have to look to know it was Ed; he'd taken up the seat beside her. "You tackled one of 'em and cuffed three others," he praised under his breath. "That didn't leave much for the rest of us like I told you to, Sabine."

"Just doing my job," she replied sweetly.

Greg was ready to move on to another topic. "Okay," he started slowly, "As we're all aware, Sam's still away on his little vacation which means we're still a man short, and we've managed things pretty well so far with just the six of us… Now, I don't want to put the horse before the cart, but… I'm getting some vibes from Holleran that the brass might be keeping a closer watch of the team during this period to see how we perform with six instead of seven."

"Boss…" Ed murmured in a questioning tone. "They're not thinking of cutting the teams down to _six_ members, are they?"

The Team One Sergeant merely shook his head once and held up a palm. "I'm not sayin' that yet," he warned. "All I'm saying is that they _seem_ to be considering it."

Spike piped up, "Fewer numbers on SRU teams could compromise public safety."

"How do they expect us to be effective with _less_ manpower?" Wordy asked, clearly confused as to why the higher-ups could even be considering such a reduction in numbers. "It already feels like we're stretching things with seven…"

"Yeah, yesterday was a prime example," Lou added. "Look how much ground we had to cover with just the six of us running around. I mean, I'm not saying the outcome might have been any different if we had Sam with us, but still…"

Donna didn't know if there was anything more she could add to the discussion, but she nevertheless quietly agreed with her teammates, new as she was the to SRU.

Greg held up a hand again, appealing for silence. "I know how you all feel about this. But like I said: let's not get ahead of ourselves. Team One is the best; we've proven that time and again. Just be aware that there might be some shakeups coming down the pipeline. We still go out there, and we give our best, one hundred percent, and let the folks above our pay grade make the final decision. Okay?"

There were a few grumbles, but everyone settled down after a few moments. They knew complaining about it would accomplish nothing, and soon enough they were back out on the busy streets, patrolling the city they had sworn to protect. Ed elected to pair himself with Donna; Spike with Lou; and Wordy with Greg for the shift.

Donna chose the passenger seat this time since she'd driven the SUV the previous shift. Ed didn't seem to be in the mood to chat as he drove, so Donna obliged him by keeping her mouth shut. It may have all been in her head, but she felt as if there was still some carry-over from the tense conversation they'd had the day before. Or maybe, Donna mused, Ed was thinking about what Greg had said about the team being under closer scrutiny to see how they operated as a six-member unit.

Foremost on her mind, though, was the lingering issue with the absent Sam Braddock. His sudden vacation made Donna wonder again if there was some personnel issue she was not privy to, and if she had contributed to it in any way. The icy way Sam had treated her from Day One continued to trouble her, and she wanted to get to the bottom of it.

Finally, she could stand it no more. She glanced at Ed when they slowed to stop for a red light.

"So… what's the deal with Sam, really?" she asked.

Her team leader pursed his lips. "I told you not to worry about it. It's nothing," he replied flatly. "Forget about it."

"Come on, Ed," Donna said, brimming with impatience at his easy dismissal. "I'm not stupid. I know he's been unhappy since the day I arrived; and now he's taken an unscheduled leave of absence that we're officially calling a 'vacation'. You and I both know he had to have pulled some strings to get that to happen. Normally, we all have to book our vacation time months in advance… So it's got to be more than meets the eye."

Ed looked her way and realised that she wasn't going to back down this time in the face of his non-answer. "Okay, look," he started tentatively, still not quite willing to tell her what both he and Greg knew of their absent team member's complicated situation. "Sam's just going through some personal stuff right now. But it's not _you_, truly."

Donna sent him a sardonic look that communicated her disbelief. "You're saying Braddock gives a chilly reception to everyone? It can't be he's some kind of misogynist who can't stand the idea of having a woman on the team!"

"Okay, fine," Ed relented. Knowing it wasn't his place to talk about what he knew of the illicit relationship between Sam and Jules, he nevertheless continued with a hint of caution: "Braddock got pretty close to Callaghan this past year. He was up there on the roof of the building with her when she got shot, and he's been helping her through her recovery."

"How 'close' are we talking, Ed?" Donna asked, instantly picking up on his implication, but not wanting to read into something that wasn't there.

"Close enough that Holleran would've flipped if he found out about it, and close enough that it was really tough for Sam to even think of choosing someone—anyone—to replace her," Ed answered. "That, and I'm pretty sure Jules ended things with Sam a little while ago."

Donna nodded gravely. "So Sam and Jules… All right; I get it now."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Sam isn't ready to move on yet, and he's resentful at the moment," Donna replied with an easy nod. "I'm good now. Thanks for filling me in."

"And Donna," Ed warned, "this conversation never happened, you read me?"

"Loud and clear," she answered, satisfied at last that she had a concrete explanation for Sam's behaviour; grateful that it really wasn't something he had against her.

_So… Sam and Jules were flirting with a protocol-breaching romance. Wow. And that really does explain everything. _In that moment, Donna realised she understood Sam Braddock. She knew full well what it was like to feel an attraction to a team member, knowing that there were lines that could not be crossed and rules that should not be broken. _How would I have felt if something happened to Bill and we had to bring in someone to replace him?_ _Well, I'd have hated it, plain and simple. _In a rush, she felt a return of the feelings of disappointment and sorrow over the way things had ended for them on the Vice Squad. She still had no clue where her ex-partner was, or what what he was doing. She was on the brink of making a mental note to contact her ex-boss, Commander Foley, when Winnie's voice chirped over their headsets.

"_Team One, we have a shots fired call,_" she announced with urgency. "_Regent Park: Dundas and Sumach. Anonymous witness reports multiple shots and described four or five shooters; All Asian males between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five. EMS has also been dispatched."_

"_Copy, Winnie; we're on our way,_" Greg said over the comm. He didn't state the obvious, which was that if EMS had been dispatched, they were most likely looking at injuries.

"_Regent Park is Sheng Dynasty Lions territory, Boss,_" Lou put in. "_Sounds like it could be some kind of gang rivalry thing going on. I'll check in with my Guns and Gangs contacts to see what they know."_

"_Thanks, Lou,_" Greg commented. "_Keep us posted._"

All thoughts about Bill and her days as his partner fled from Donna's mind. Instead, it was time for a gut-check. Gang warfare was closer to home for her. While she hadn't ever been a member of Guns and Gangs like Lewis Young had, there had been countless brushes with gang members involved with the drug and prostitution trade during her time with Vice.

_Vicious thugs that wreak havoc and destruction_, Donna thought in a sort of tired resignation to the reality of her job. She started to dread the scene that was about to greet them in Regent Park. Swirling in her head were memories of cold, soulless eyes; scarred and tattooed bodies; crumbling walls in depressed neighbourhoods spray-painted with crass gang tags; concealed weapons that could appear in the blink of an eye that could precipitate a violent outburst of gunfire, usually leaving behind bloody corpses and yellow police tape when it was all over. The worst was when those bloody corpses belonged to the innocent.

Ten minutes of speedy, expert driving on Ed's part brought them to their destination with the two other SRU vehicles close behind.

First on the scene had been two ambulances and three police cruisers. They were now parked strategically in front of a red brick apartment building; the perimeter of the crime scene already taped off. A sprinkling of neighbours gathered around this flimsy border as they tried to get a view of something—anything at all—that would feed their curiosity about what happened. Other neighbours, wiser perhaps after years of seeing so much similar violence, remained indoors to avoid getting involved in any way.

Paramedics were wrapping up their duties; two victims had been pronounced dead at the scene. Yellow tarps draped across the corpses afforded a barrier between the bodies and the prying eyes of onlookers. But the covering was somewhat insufficient: bloody trails still managed to escape, flowing across the rutted pavement in dark rivulets, pooling in crevices and cracks. At the same time, Donna, Ed, and Spike hung back as Greg and Wordy held a brief but detailed conversation with the patrol officers who had first responded to the call. Based on Greg's body language as he wrapped up his conference with the patrol officers, Donna was getting the impression that they'd been far too late to be of any use in this scenario. The shooters were long gone, and any witnesses to the crimes were unwilling to talk. They had all made themselves scarce, and there was no sign of the 'anonymous caller' who had first reported the shooting.

Forensic Identification Services rolled in and immediately got to work, marking off and photographing locations of spent shell casings, the dead bodies, and shattered windows that resulted from errant bullets.

Lou approached Greg just as he and Wordy turned away from their chat with the patrol cops. "Guns and Gangs say they believe this is a retaliation strike by the Sheng Dynasty against a start-up crew run by the Golden Dragons," he stated. "They've been battling for control of the extortion racket, and things obviously boiled over today."

"All right, thanks Lou," Greg sighed as he noticed some plainclothes Homicide detectives from 51 Division arriving. He looked to his team and gave a slight shrug. "There's nothing left for us to do here; we'll let our Homicide pals take over now."

"Back on patrol," Ed uttered to Donna. "No active shooters in sight—no one talking, no clue where the shooters might have scattered—equals no need for us to linger."

"Gotcha," Donna replied, following him back to their SUV.

Greg touched base briefly with the lead Homicide detective; both exchanged cordial greetings and cursory information before the Team One Sergeant finally returned to his vehicle with Wordy to continue with the rest of the day's patrol.

Donna wondered if many calls went that way for SRU: a shooting that was all over by the time they arrived with no suspect hanging around presenting an immediate danger. Active shooters they were prepared to deal with. But when witnesses were too frightened to talk about where those active shooters might have gone, SRU was evidently supposed to let the area detectives take the reins when all the fireworks were over.

* * *

><p>"You hungry?" Ed asked Donna when their lunch break rolled around.<p>

"Absolutely," she replied, "and I know this great shawarma place not too far away. Used to grab something there several times a week when I was a beat cop."

"What shawarma place? The 'Super Shawarma Stop' on Danforth?" Ed asked, his mouth rolling easily over the alliterative name of the eatery.

"Yeah," Donna said, looking over at him in interest. "You know it?"

Ed couldn't hide a grin. "I used to go there sometimes when I was on the beat, too."

"No kidding," Donna said, amused to learn of this commonality. "You're only one year behind me out of the Academy, right? It's a wonder we never ran into each other there back in the day."

"Well, I had a lot more hair back then," Ed joked, "so you might not have recognized me if we did run into each other."

"And mine was pretty short when I started out," Donna said, remembering the conservative length she'd once kept her blonde locks. "Makes it harder for scumbags to grab onto."

"Okay, I was 55th Division for a few years, so if you were buzzing around Danforth, you must have been 54th Division," Ed posited.

Donna gave her head a brief nod. "Good guess. Yeah, I was there for eight years. How about that: we were neighbouring Divisions and didn't even know it 'til now."

"Small world," Ed commented, as they drove past Holy Name Church on Danforth on the way to their chosen lunch stop. Ten minutes later, they were eating in the warmth of the SUV, watching as hungry Torontonians braved the cold to line up outside the Super Shawarma Stop, proving that it was not only popular with Toronto police officers.

"Hey, do you ever miss being a beat cop?" Donna asked after having eaten half her lunch. The mention of her old stomping grounds had put her in a reflective mood.

Ed took a sip of coffee before answering. "Not really. SRU is all I ever wanted to be. I mean, come on! Nothing beats the 'cool pants'."

Donna nodded in agreement, remembering her elation at making the elite unit. Ed must have noticed something else in her expression; something that tempered her enthusiasm and overshadowed her initial positive response. "Hey… what I said to you yesterday…" he began to say before she cut him off.

"Honestly, Ed," Donna murmured, "what you said was the truth. And sobering as it was, I needed to hear it. I don't need you to sugar-coat things; I'm a big girl. It's just that… what happened at that amusement park with that baby… it uh, it brought back some pretty rough memories from one of my early cases with Vice."

"Tell me about it."

"No, that isn't a case you _want_ to hear, trust me." Donna shook her head vehemently, as if to physically shake loose the dreadful images that danced in her head of that long-ago tragedy.

Ed shrugged and let the matter drop. "Suit yourself," he said, then added: "But Donna, don't keep stuff bottled up, okay?"

"Okay."

"I mean it. I'm really glad you are on board with how we do things here, and I'm glad you're open to talking with me about how you've been doing—especially after that incident at the airport," Ed said carefully. "Just don't think that sharing has to be limited to SRU stuff."

"Thank you, Ed," Donna said honestly. "Your being a listening ear has been really helpful."

With a smile Ed said: "You're welcome. That's what I'm here for, remember?"

"I know," Donna replied. "And I promise I'll try to keep the early-morning crisis calls to a minimum in the future."

"Don't worry about it," her team leader uttered. "Maybe one day I'm going to be the one calling at two in the morning."

Donna doubted that very much, but nevertheless affirmed she would willingly be supportive if it ever came to pass that Ed needed to unburden himself in the future.

Before either Ed or Donna could take another bite of their lunch, Winnie called them back on duty.

"_Shots fired call, Team One_," she announced. "_Chinatown: Spadina and D'Arcy. Witnesses say two Asian males approximately 20 years old fired shots into the Shin Hong restaurant and fled the scene in a late model black hatchback Honda Civic, last seen headed south on Spadina. License plate Tango Oscar Lima Foxtrot One One Four Nine."_

"_We're on our way, Winnie,"_ Greg answered back. "_Lunch time's over, Team One, let's hustle."_

Winnie continued: "_Ambulances have been dispatched and Metro has been alerted. All units are on the lookout for the Honda."_

Ed looked over at Donna, and she acknowledged him with a quick nod, knowing he was ready to roll again. "We can be on Spadina in about six minutes, Boss," Ed said, and immediately started the engine and switched on the lights and sirens. He pulled a tight U-turn and zoomed down Danforth back towards Chinatown, due west.

"_Go, Eddie,_" Greg replied. "_Wordy and I will be right behind you; we're coming in from the north."_

"_Our ETA on Spadina is about ten minutes, Boss,_" Lou advised. "_I'm betting this is tied to our earlier shooting at Regent Park._"

"_Yeah, that's what I'm thinking too, Lou,"_ Greg commented dryly.

"Did they I.D. the victims of that shooting yet, Boss?_" _asked Donna.

"_I'll check in with my contact at Homicide, Donna. My gut is telling me the deceased will be members of the Golden Dragons, though."_

"_And Chinatown is firmly in the grasp of the Golden Dragons," _Lou added. "_I'm thinking the Sheng Dynasty Lions are continuing with their strike against Dragons, only this time they're taking the fight right into enemy territory."_

"Gutsy move," Donna quipped.

"Stupid move," Ed put in as he crossed the Don Valley Parkway onto Bloor. "First they take out two guys from a start-up crew, and now they're showing their faces in the Dragons' 'den'? They must have a death wish."

"I guess we should be thankful these gang members aren't criminal masterminds," Donna mused out loud.

"_Okay, Team One, we have a positive sighting of our Civic,_" Winnie broke in. "_Patrol cops have it still proceeding south on Spadina; so far they're obeying the speed limit... Instructions?"_

"_Patch them through to me, Winnie,"_ Greg said. Winnie did so, and the rest of the team listened as Sergeant Parker advised the Metro officers to follow the gang members without sirens so they would not suspect they were being chased, and to keep SRU apprised of their movements. "_They're armed and dangerous,"_ Greg added. "_We're headed your way now. Do not engage unless engaged, understood?"_

The two constables in the patrol cruiser relayed they understood, and went radio silent for the time being.

"If they're still headed south, we could take University to Front Street and try to stop them head-on," Donna suggested.

"Yeah, I was thinking that, too," Ed said as they whizzed down Wellesley Street, still due west. "I just hope we can make it there in time. I don't wanna lose these guys."

"_If you miss them and they're still on Spadina, we can try to come up at them from Gardiner,_" Spike spoke up.

"Copy, Spike," the team leader acknowledged.

"_Okay, patrol cops say our gang members are playing it cool. They're stopped at a light at Spadina and King,_" Greg declared over the comm.

"_So they haven't been spooked yet?" _Lou asked. "_Good. Means the element of surprise could still be on our side."_

Ed and Donna listened carefully to all of this; they quickly proceeded due south on University Avenue, keeping with their plans to head off the shooters in the Civic once they reached Spadina.

Greg had another update from the patrol cops. "_Listen up, people: the suspects have stopped in at a gas station just off Spadina. Metro police just turned the corner at Wellington and still have eyes on them. Ed; Donna, you're still the closest right now. What's your ETA?"_

"We just turned onto Front Street, Boss," Ed stated as he blasted the SUV through the red light at Simcoe. "We can be on Spadina in a minute." It was times like this Ed was grateful that as a law enforcement officer he didn't have to abide by traffic laws.

"_Copy, Eddie,_" Greg said. "_Let us know when you have eyes on the suspects_, _but be careful when you go to apprehend_. _These guys have already caused a lot of havoc today. I heard back from my Homicide buddy, and it's as we suspected: The two dead from the Regent Park shooting were positively identified as members of the Golden Dragons gang; EMS just said three others have been wounded in the restaurant. One is a gang member, but the other two were just bystanders."_

Ed and Donna exchanged tense looks, both knowing they were about to walk right into a potentially perilous situation. The pair from the SRU was keenly aware the Sheng Dynasty Lions duo they were after would have zero qualms about opening fire on them—based on the already brazen attacks conducted in broad daylight.

"Boss, we're turning onto Spadina right now… do our Metro friends still have eyes on the gangbangers?" Ed queried.

"_Affirmative, Eddie,"_ Greg answered. "_They say it looks like they've just finished gassing up. You'll need to hurry._"

"Copy," Ed said, but nevertheless slowed the SUV to adjust to the speed limit and killed the siren; the gas station was two blocks away and he didn't want to alert the gang members of his approach.

"There's the Honda," Donna said, catching sight of the sleek profile of the sporty hatchback just as the driver was getting back into the driver's seat.

"I see 'em too," Ed murmured. He re-engaged the sirens and lights. The 510 streetcar line separated Spadina's traffic lanes and Ed gave the wheel a sharp yank to the left to pull into the opposite lane; drivers in oncoming traffic, already warned by the flashing lights and blaring siren had automatically slowed to accommodate the SRU vehicle.

"They're rabbiting," Donna spoke up urgently, hearing the racing engine and seeing the spinning tires of the Civic as the Asian gang members attempted to peel out of the gas station compound. The smaller vehicle squealed around the gas pumps and tried to make for the exit ramp. Ed hit the accelerator. In a burst of speed, the SUV accelerated and rammed into the rear end of the fleeing vehicle with a ferocious crunch. Fragments of plastic, steel, and shards of glass flew everywhere. Two seconds later Ed and Donna were out of the SUV, bellowing orders to the driver and passenger-side occupant to exit with their hands showing. The pair of officers cautiously approached the doors of the destroyed Civic, their Glock 17 sidearms raised and ready.

"SRU! Out of the car, now!" shouted Ed to the driver once again when he saw no movement from within. "Show me your hands!"

Donna did the same, trying to get eyes on the passenger as she edged closer to the right side door. "I said get out of the car! Hands in the air," she yelled. "Do it now!"

Slowly, the left side door creaked open, and the driver slunk out of his seat to his knees, timidly showing his hands. Ed rushed forward. He dragged the woozy driver away from the wrecked car then shoved the young man to the ground so he was flat on his belly; checked him for any hidden weapons. Finding none, Ed cuffed him securely.

"I got the driver, Donna," he announced, taking a deep breath to calm himself after riding a wave of adrenaline. He kept a knee planted firmly in the small of the young man's back and re-holstered his Glock.

"_That's good work, Eddie,_" Greg praised over the comm. "_What about the passenger?_"

"He hasn't moved yet," Donna muttered under her breath. From her vantage point, she could just make out that he was slumped against the deflated dashboard airbag. He could be unconscious from the shock of the impact, or he could be playing possum, Donna realised. A decision had to be made. She crept closer to the door, weapon pointed at the gang member. She reached for the door handle with her left hand to open it; her right hand still gripping her sidearm. With one quick motion, she lifted the handle and pulled open the door before springing back; both hands once again on the Glock.

"You good, Donna?" asked Ed while escorting his prisoner to the backseat of the SUV.

"Yep," she answered quietly, "just taking it slow and steady here…"

The passenger was still unresponsive. In seconds, several thoughts raced through Donna's head, and she recalled yesterday's pursuit of the young kidnappers, Jessie Wyeth and Terry Dornan. She shuddered at the memory of how close she had come to ramming the stolen vehicle, and the possible harm that might have befallen innocent baby Liam if she hadn't stopped in time. _This_ passenger before her wasn't a baby, and he probably wasn't innocent by any stretch of the imagination, but he was still a human being, and he might very well be in medical distress.

Decision made, Donna crept towards him again. She slipped her glove off her left hand to reach in to feel for a pulse on the inert man's neck, continuing to keep her handgun trained on him. The moment Donna's fingers made contact with the young man's clammy skin, he jerked upward suddenly and an explosion of fire and gunpowder erupted from the pistol he had kept concealed beneath the folds of the airbag.

Ed heard the shot. "Donna!" he roared, instantly spinning around and seeing only the figure of the emerging passenger as he exited the Honda and sprinted off, hoping to put as much distance as he could between himself and the SRU cops.

"_Eddie, what's going on?!" _Greg called out in alarm. "_That sounded like a gunshot!"_

Panic seized Ed Lane. He abandoned his prisoner and was around the side of the Honda in a blitz. Donna lay on her back, a deep grimace pulling at her face; eyes squeezed shut.

"Donna…" Ed called a second time, dropping to his knees and quickly checking her for any signs of serious injury. "How bad?! Are you hurt?!"

She shook her head and gulped in several lungsful of air before answering. "Don't…think…so…"

Ed sighed with relief when he didn't see any blood; only an entry hole in Donna's vest.

"Go… after him, Ed!" Donna huffed. "Go!"

He didn't need to be told again. He got to his feet and ran at top speed in the direction of the escaped shooter. The last Ed had seen of him, the youth had been wearing a white hoodie as he made a mad dash down Spadina. _Not much to go on,_ thought Ed in annoyance as he took in his bearings. Pedestrian and street traffic was heavy at this moment, and the ugly smash-up between the SRU vehicle and the Honda had already produced a string of 'rubberneckers'. Then Ed caught sight of the gunman trying to force a driver out of her car.

"SRU! Stop!" Ed shouted, weapon once again drawn. The Asian male started and turned to run again, forced to change his carjacking plans. He dodged into traffic, narrowly avoiding being hit by a silver Ford Focus. Ed pursued. Inexplicably, the gang member turned and fired off a round at Ed. But the shot was poorly aimed, and the bullet smashed harmlessly into the brick wall of a boutique. Nevertheless, it caused passersby to panic, and Ed had to avoid several civilians who dived to the ground out of sheer terror.

"Move!" he yelled, and leapt over one crouched man who seemed too stunned to react to the command.

Even with the relative head-start afforded him, the gang member had not managed to get very far as nearly bumper-to-bumper traffic barred the way. Ed could tell the gunman was getting frustrated by being boxed in, and by angry drivers who kept honking at him to get out of the way. The SRU team leader began to worry the thug would start shooting some of those drivers, but instead Ed watched as he began heading down along the streetcar tracks towards Clarence Square.

"Stay where you are!" Ed shouted. The escaping shooter stole a glance over his shoulder at the SRU constable, pivoted, and raised his gun to fire again. Ed could only watch in horror as the youth lost his footing and tumbled onto the tracks where an oncoming streetcar, unable to stop in time, crushed him beneath the wheels.

* * *

><p>SIU investigators didn't hold Ed for long. Their involvement was mandatory given the fact that there was a civilian fatality involving law enforcement; but since Ed hadn't physically caused the gangbanger's death, he was quickly cleared and allowed to return for the tail-end of the debriefing.<p>

Greg was wrapping up his final comments when Ed quietly entered the room and took a seat as unobtrusively as possible. Donna looked over at him with a sympathetic gaze, thinking just how awful it must have been to witness such a grisly death as the one he'd seen on the streetcar tracks. Donna couldn't help but feel awful about how the Sheng Dynasty Lions member had met his demise, even though he'd tried to kill her. Ed, for his part, looked no worse for the experience; but his eyes brightened when he saw Donna was present and accounted for, also looking no worse for her own brush with death.

"Anyone have anything to add?" Greg asked, looking around the room. His gaze settled on Ed. "You okay, Ed? Things go okay with SIU?"

"Just fine, Boss," replied Ed. "Easiest dance I've had with them."

The mention of 'dance' made Donna's mind flip to Hank and his friend, Pete. She felt an unconscious smirk tugging at her lips, thinking how just the night before she'd told them that she'd never been shot on the job. _How's that for irony,_ she mused. Her solar plexus was still extremely painful, and there was a large, unsightly, bloody welt where the bullet had impacted against her flesh behind the vest. Paramedics had assessed her on the scene after the shooting; they'd been satisfied that she didn't need to go the the hospital for further medical attention after patching her up. They did warn her, however, that she should head to the nearest ER should she feel unwell in the ensuing hours.

"Okay," Greg said, convinced nothing else needed saying, "I think we can call it a day. Donna, once again we're happy you're okay."

"Thank you," Donna said. "And I'll also thank all of you for _not_ carrying out that hazing ritual where you were going to replace all the Kevlar in my vest with cream cheese."

This brought forth a round of chuckles as she smiled in wry amusement.

"But Donna, you know what happens around here when you get shot, right?" Greg asked innocently.

"I get the day off and you all send me flowers and chocolate?" she joked.

"No," Greg countered. "We go out for drinks at the Goose… And _you're_ buying!"

"I thought you didn't drink," Donna protested to Greg as the team got up from their seats to leave the room.

"Alcohol, no," Greg affirmed. "But they do serve a variety of very nice sodas at the Goose, and I enjoy every one of them."

"They also have a great selection of craft beers," Spike put in.

"Be expensive, those craft beers," Lou said.

"Ooh, they have imported lager from Germany that I love," Ed said rapturously.

"I think I'll stick with Guinness this time," Wordy said.

"Boring!" Ed mocked.

"Spike, what was that Jamaican lager we had again?" Lou asked his pal.

"Red Stripe!" Spike said with enthusiasm.

"Think they have it at the Goose?"

Donna rolled her eyes as they all crossed the floor to the elevator, knowing her team mates were teasing her with their potential drink orders. "_I_ think I'm going to have to remind myself to never get shot again!"

But when the time came, they settled for an inexpensive domestic brand; Greg for a ginger ale. Every one of them knew they had to be up early for the next day's shift, so they capped it at one drink before calling it quits. Wordy was the first to leave after polishing off his drink in ten minutes; he didn't have to explain that he had a wife and three little girls to get home to. Greg also excused himself as soon as he'd finished his non-alcoholic beverage. Donna took that to mean he didn't want to spend more time than necessary around booze, especially since he was a recovering alcoholic. She admired his reserve, and wondered how long and how tough a struggle he had faced to get sober; wondered if such success was possible for Bill Kedrick…

"Donna…" Ed was trying to get her attention.

"Yes, Ed?"

He looked at her very seriously. "You gave me a massive scare today, but I just wanna say I'm so damned relieved your vest stopped the bullet."

"So am I," she replied. "Just thank God he wasn't aiming for my head, right?"

"Don't even joke about that," Ed said sternly.

"I know, I know," she said hastily. "But when something like this happens… you can't avoid thinking about all the morbid possibilities… It could have been my head. It could have been my face. It could have gone right through my vest, and we're not sitting here having this conversation right now."

Ed averted his glance and sighed. "Well," he stated, "don't dwell on those other 'morbid possibilities' for too long, okay?"

"Okay," Donna said in agreement. "I won't. And you're right. This job has enough dangers to worry about what might or might not have happened."

"Exactly," Ed commented slowly, thinking not for the first time how quickly things went south for Team One the day Jules got shot… How Petar had nabbed him and almost killed him… How Sam had been at the right place at the right time… Then today, hearing the shot that rang out and for several tense seconds not knowing if Donna was dead or alive… And finally seeing the gangbanger stumbling on the streetcar tracks… Ed blinked furiously to try to clear his mind.

"All right, I'm gonna head home," he stated. "I promised Soph I wouldn't be too late."

"Good night, Ed," Donna said warmly. "And thanks again for everything. Today was… painful… but you've been there from Day One to help me through everything, and I can't think of a better person to have been there for me when I took my first bullet in the vest."

"You're welcome," Ed replied graciously as he stood up and grabbed his jacket from the coatrack. "But Sabine… Just don't make a habit of getting shot, okay?"

"With you to watch my back, I very much doubt getting shot will be habit-forming," she answered back with a smile. Ed reflected her smile, then turned and headed for the exit.

Lou and Spike had been chattering away with each other and finally noticed that it was just the two of them and Donna left at the table.

"I'm gonna go, you guys," she said to them. "See you tomorrow."

The two pals waved their goodbyes to her, and she collected her jacket from the rack as Ed had done a minute earlier. As she drove home through the winter night, she couldn't help but think about what had occurred in the gas station parking lot. Her words to Ed about having him there to watch her back had the unfortunate consequence of reminding her yet again about Bill.

_Where are you, Bill?_ She thought mournfully for what felt like the millionth time since last she'd had any contact with her ex-partner. _You certainly weren't there today when I got hit with that gangster's bullet. And even though I lived to tell, I can't even tell _you_ because I don't know where to find you! Maybe you don't want to be found. Is that it, Bill? Maybe you've given up on trusting _me_ to have _your_ back. I just wish things could have been different. I wish I could have done more to help you solve your problems. But if you don't _want_ me to find you…_

Donna stopped herself from thinking further along those lines. Cutting professional ties with him was one thing; it was inevitable, really. Moving on in her career without him was the only way she could carry on. But she realised she still wasn't ready to cut _personal _ties—no matter how remote the possibility of seeing him again and of reconciling the past troubles that had caused the rift in the first place.

Five minutes later, she pulled into her parking stall at her apartment. She shut off the truck's engine and sat in the relative stillness for a few seconds. Tomorrow, she made up her mind she was going to call her former boss at Vice, and she was going to do everything she could do to convince him to tell her what had become of Bill. If anything, by asking about Bill, Donna could assuage her uneasy conscience that she was still cared, and still had his back after all this time.

* * *

><p><strong>Note: <strong>I realise some of you might question the part where Ed tells Donna about what he knows about Sam and Jules. I'm going with the theory that their comm system would not have been broadcasting or recording at that moment since they not responding to a Hot Call during that part of their patrol.

I also have zero idea what "F.O.R.T." was intended to stand for when it was used in the series. I've been unable to find a corresponding law enforcement unit with that acronym, so anyone's guess is as good as good as mine. Maybe something like "Firearms and Ordnance Reclamation Teams" or something like that.


End file.
